The Cycle of Blood, Life, and Love
by ParaVox26
Summary: Santana's cursed. Whenever she meets her soul mate the two fall in love... only for her mate to promptly die. Once dead, her mate reincarnate decades later only for the cycle to repeat over & over. What happens when they meet again at Yale, two students still weighed down by the past that Quinn can't remember and Santana can never forget. Can things ever change? Quinntana. Vamp!
1. Chapter 1: The Elevator

**In honor of Glee ending, I've decided that now is the time to post this story I've been planning and working on. I figured, I should post it now well people are still recovering from the loss of our beloved show. I might become busy (especially because of all my classes) but reviews motivate me.**

**I've been excited to write and post this for a really long time so I really do hope you enjoy this story as much as I do.**

The Elevator

Santana P.O.V

I let out a satisfied, albeit vexed, sigh as I finally finished unpacking my side of the dorm room. It had taken 6 hours of my life, not that I'm exactly strapped for time. In theory, I have all of eternity so I've got plenty of time between now and then. Still, I'd much rather be having sex or something instead of fulfilling of the tedious task of unpacking.

At least it looks nice, I think with a shrug. My side of the room is set up with a nice dark, classy look. My bed is made up with dark navy, silk sheets that cost me a goddamn fortune. My wall is filled with posters of one or two of the greats as well a few odds and ends I've collected over the years. I've got a picture of Vivienne and I up as well as some of my favorite places around the world, but a lot of my treasured memories are housed in various sketchbooks that I've had to draw. Those drawings are the only memory I have of people and places I've met and been before cameras were invented. That makes me feel so old.

"Viv, how's it looking?" I call out, as I turn around to venture to her side of the room.

"I thought I told you to start calling me Brittany, even in private! I am no longer Vivienne. I am only Brittany Susan Pierce!" I roll my eyes at her ridiculous antics. Technically, her original name is Vivienne Sadler, but every decade, maybe a little more, the two of us have to change our names and locations or else people would become suspicious of why we haven't aged… and maybe why there's one too many of the occasional human wandering into the hospital suffering from blood loss. Each time we do this Vivienne insists on fully immersing herself in her 'new identity.' I should be used to it after all these years, but it's still unnerving for the first couple of days.

"Yeah, whatever you say Britts." I respond with a roll of my eyes as I plop down in the pink, cushy beanbag she has set up next to the head of her bed. As I observe her side of the room I notice how some things never change. She's still using the same cotton candy sheets as she has the last thirty years and has that damned unicorn, Mr. Snuggles, sitting by her window. She says that he is 'good luck' and will protect her from harm. I laugh to myself. As if something named 'Mr. Snuggles' could viciously protect her from a territorial canis mutante or veneficus who doesn't appreciate a lamia encroaching upon his or her space.

Not for the first time, I laugh at the words 'lamia, canis mutante, and veneficus' inside my head. Only the Maleficiī, the supernatural community, are so pretentious. They refuse to use the words vampire, werewolf, and warlock. Everything must have an extravagant name.

"Remind me, why are we doing this whole college dorm thing again? I've been alive for 706 years and in that time I've amassed a small fortune. We could've easily bought a comfier and more spacious loft not five minutes away from campus," I point out.

"You promised me the true college experience," Brittany pouted. "Girls have only been able to go to school for like, 100 years. We shouldn't take that lightly." Brittany's activist-y nature will never fade away. I'm surprised she didn't go into an activist career like she did under our last identity.

"Brittany, girls have been going to college since mid-1700's," I respond, still annoyed that I have to spend the next year in this cooped, crammed room that is the size of my bathroom at my real house.

"Whatever, you promised me the college experience!" she shrugs off, jumping up with a squeal of joy as she looked around the room. "This is so exciting, Sanny!"

"This place isn't even safe Brittany and we're unable to put up the proper protection from other Maleficiī I continue to argue.

"Mr. Snuggles will protect us!" she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I sigh for what must be the third time in three minutes. I love that girl as if she was my sister but sometimes I wonder about her. It's not that she's dumb. She got into Yale on a full mathematics scholarship so she's very smart (I did have to do some mind-tampering to get her that interview since we weren't exactly graduating from high school at that point). She's just very naïve and innocent.

"I can hear you sighing!" She twirls around away from the window to look over at me. "I may not be able to read minds like you, but I know what that sigh means! I believe that Mr. Snuggles will protect us. And if they somehow get past him I have you, my big bad vampire, to beat them up!"

"Exactly," I respond. "I can read minds and do a lot of other shit that no other vamps can, which makes me target number one by almost every Maleficiī out there!"

"Maybe I should just get rid of everything that's not necessary," Brittany said, pretending to ignore me. "Like this extra dresser. It'll give me more room to dance and practice." She observed the offending object thoughtfully.

"You can't ignore my perfectly valid concerns, Brittany," I call out from the overly squishy beanbag.

"I can and I will because they're not valid and I'm not afraid of anybody else. You'll kick their asses because you're superior and amazing and won't let anything happen to me. Hey, do you have any room on your side for… something like an extra dresser?"

"No," I deadpan. "Anyways, they have a dance studio a block away from our dorm that you'll be using, not this tiny dorm room."

"Of course! You're so smart, Michaela – I mean, Santana," she says with a wink. Michaela was the name I had used in my last identity.

At the time I'd been living in Washington D.C, majoring in history. My name had been Michaela Turnique at the time and I was a historian specializing in the 1700's, something I was very good at considering I had actually been alive during that time. Brittany had been Janie Delaney; she had liked the way it rhymed. She was an animal rights activist.

"So much for fully immersing into out new identities," I respond snidely at her slip up with my name.

"Oh hush!" Brittany says, slapping the air with her hand as if I was right next to her to hit and not three feet away. "Y'know, I think I left a box down in the car. Can you grab it for me?"

"Why don't you get it? I am very comfortable sitting in your beanbag," I say, purposely sinking down further to prove a point.

"Because you're an awesome person and you're done unpacking whereas I, your most beloved friend who you love dearly and would do anything for, still have another box up here to unpack."

"Fuck you for being right," I reply.

"Language!"

"You severely over packed," I comment as I rise from the cushion, enticing me to fall back into it. Her room is stuffed with clothes coming out of the drawers, pictures, posters, and photos filling up the wall so much I can't actually see the wall anymore, and a thousand and one unnecessary knick-knacks and 'sentimental items.'

"See, I would know the exact right amount to pack if you'd do the whole 'college experience' with me more often," she quipped.

"You could go for more of a minimalist feel."

"Says the girl with the 1,000 dollar sheets."

"Touché," I reply, impressed. "I'll grab your last box from the car."

**Blood**

The moment I stepped outside that door all five of my senses were immediately bombarded with a thousand reactions.

The college had maybe 50 or so buildings dedicated to student living. A majority of them were set up as dorm rooms. The elevators from the main floor brought you up and spit you out into the common room of whatever floor you had landed on. The common rooms were fairly simply, some couches and tables with a small kitchen and TV. Then, to the left of that common room was a long hallway that led to maybe 20 dorms housing two people each and to the right was another long hallway with 20 dorms housing two people each. Brittany and I were set up on the left side on the seventh floor of the ES Harkness Building.

Mathematically speaking, maybe half of them were setting up their dorm rooms right now and the other 20 kids were out in the hallway, carrying their stuff in or rolling in carts that took up the entire hallway and couldn't get past their dorm door because the cart was so large. In essence, moving day was a mad house.

The hallway was so clogged up with people and people's shit I could barely see; hell I'm surprised I even made it outside of my door. At any given moment there was at least one person and one object brushing up against my arm or my leg, barely squeezing by to reach their dorm room.

The absolute worst part though, was all the sounds I was hearing. I could hear all 20 of their heartbeats pulsing, racing in their chests. Some were slower than the average, probably high as fuck, and others were about to beat out of their chest. In a mess of people this big I bet at least one of them an O Blood type, the most rare, which automatically makes them even more delectable. Just the thought of anybody's blood hitting my taste buds makes me lick my lips.

Thankfully, over the years I've built up a ridiculous amount of self-control. One of these humans could be bleeding out on the floor and I'd still be able to contain myself. Admittedly, it isn't all just my amazing self-discipline stopping me from sucking them all dry. Some of it has to do with the genes.

I'm what people like Brittany, who deal with numbers, possibilities, and statistics, refer to as an outlier. Most lamia have the classic strength, speed, healing ability, seduction, and mind control. I have a few more tricks up my sleeve.

My mother was Mens from Ancient Greek Mythology, goddess of the mind. Some 700+ years ago she fell in love with a lamia in Africa and fell pregnant with me. There is only one other lamia in history that was born and not turned: The very first.

Being the daughter of the mind goddess I got a few extra gifts. All of my given abilities as a lamia have been heightened including things like my restraint from drinking blood. However, I also possess telekinesis, telepathy, and enhanced mind control. Because of the way I was born as well as these powers a lot of the Maleficiī, believes that I have too much power and will unite the entire Maleficiī underneath my leadership. Also known as, they think I'll be the Hitler of the Maleficiī. Right now, the entire community is separated and a lot of people think that I'll change that.

For clan leaders and those who want to stay independent, this makes me public enemy number one.

Thank God for people like Brittany who believe in me and don't want to kill me, even if she does make me go get her shit that's like 2 blocks away in the already crowded parking lot.

At least the cold doesn't bother me, I muse as I make my way towards the lot. It takes me maybe ten minutes to make it to the lot and to the car that was piled so high with shit we couldn't actually see out the back window, making it a little more dangerous driving here.

I click the open button on the keys and the car chirps to life, opening up the trunk automatically. I roll my eyes and chuckle as soon as I see the contents of the overflowing box: stuffed animals. Of course Brittany brought stuffed animals.

I grab the relatively small box and tuck in underneath one arm, closing the trunk and locking the car with my other hand, and head back towards my dorm.

**Life**

I've always wanted to ride in that elevator from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the glass one that moves unbelievably fast and goes every which way imaginable. The elevators we have now are boring. They're too slow and they only go up. They only trap you in a steel box until you reach your location. I'd love to be in a glass elevator, see a view from above, and stare out at everybody below you. They have them in malls sometimes, but it's not the same.

Imagine travelling the empire state building from a glass elevator, watching everybody become progressively smaller as you travel higher and higher. In that moment you feel like God, rising above the rest. Yet your humanity is revealed to you only at such an extreme as you see how small everyone is you realize just how small you are. You become a living paradox of realization, both aware of your Godly status and human vulnerability. Maybe people would understand how I feel all the time if they rode in glass elevators more often.

"Hold the doors please!" The moment I hear that voice I knew. I can feel my heartbeat race and my knees begin to weaken. It is the perfect mix between seductive and sweet. My imagination runs rampant just at the sound of her heavenly voice. If she asks me to I will run so fast I'd turn back time, be her own personal Superman. Unwillingly, my canines come flashing out. Or if she demands, in a low, sweet tone, I'd let her dominate me, take me, without a fight.

For all the self-control I have, and I have that of three lamiae, I have none around her. She's my own personal kryptonite. I want to let those doors shut. I never want to know who she is or what she looks like because I know that the moment I see her there's no turning back. Still, my arm shoots out almost instinctively and stops the doors moments before they close.

"Thanks!" she comments right as she strolls into the elevator. I only catch a flash of her short, blonde hair as she steps onto the elevator; her face is hidden behind a stack of books and boxes.

"What floor?" I manage to muster up.

"7."

"Oh, same."

She stands a few feet away from me, facing towards the steel doors. I can see a little more of her face. She has fair skin that looks like it never went through those awful teenage years. There's a natural rosy blush to her cheeks that couldn't be faked with any amount of make-up. I've never understood the appeal of cheekbones, but hers… they're perfect. They're not overly defined, but I still have the urge to take my finger and just run over them.

"Granted this is a big campus, but I've never seen you before. Are you new?" she asks curiously. Her head bows towards me, causing a stray strand of hair to fall in front of her face. She glares at it for a moment, unable to move it with her hands full.

Without another thought, I cross to her side of the elevator and move the hair out of her face. Her hair smells faintly of strawberries and as my fingers disconnect, there's the faint smell of vanilla and lavender on them.

She looks even more beautiful up close. "Thanks," she says. I observe the bags under her eyes that she's trying to hide with concealer. It's a shame. The make-up is only hindering her natural beauty, not enhancing it.

I rush back to my side of the elevator before I do something stupid – well, more stupid than I've already been – and reply. "You're welcome."

She clears her throat, "So, you never answered my question."

"What?" I ask distractedly, eyes following the pumping vein on her neck.

"Are you new?" My eyes flash back up to her.

"Yeah. This is my first year."

"Cool! I'm Quinn. What's your name?" Quinn. My tongue rolls over the name, eager and desperate to say it.

"Santana."

"I'm a sophomore. I'd shake your hand, but I have none free," she says with a laugh that makes my heart beat a little bit faster. I nod noncommittally. I want to keep her talking until the end of time, but I know that the more we talk the more attached I'll get and I can't do that. I made a promise 95 years ago that I'd leave her alone and let her live out her life without my interference. I intend to keep it.

"This place is great," she continues on. I wish she'd stop. Each time she talks I just want to drop my boxes, throw her up against the elevator, and bite down on her tender neck, fingers tracing over the slick, wetness that would soon appear. "It's rigorous but it's the best education on the East Coast and you'll make friends of a lifetime here." Get your mind out of the cloaca maxima, Santana! My eyes flit towards the elevator counting up the numbers until we hit floor 7. It seems to take forever. "Are you nervous?"

I shrug my shoulders ambiguously.

"You're not very talkative are you?" she says with this damn smile that makes me want to worship and ravage her.

I don't respond, only flicking my eyes to the door that should be opening any second.

As soon as they do, I'm rushing out of them like the girl has the Black Plague. "It was nice meeting you!" she calls out.

'It was torture meeting you,' I reply in my head. 'A beautiful, sweet torture that I'd suffer a thousand eternities for.'

I'm almost out of hearing distance when I hear a small thud and a squeal that is distinctly Quinn's. I try to keep walking, but everything in my body is telling me I have to go back. I need to help her. It's in my blood.

When I get back I witness her kneeled down, her cute little sundress touching the floor, trying to grab some of the belongings she dropped. I bend down and grab them for her.

She flashes me a relieved smile. "Thanks. Move in day is always pandemonium." In that moment I swear there isn't a sexier word than pandemonium. "Trying to carry as much as possible as quickly as possible, it doesn't always work. Do you think you could help me out and carry those books to my room with me?"

"I'm busy," I snap back disparagingly. I don't want to be around you for too long.

For a moment she looks stunned. "Wow, you didn't have to be so damn rude." She scoffs in disgust; turning her body away from me, foot ticking angrily.

I suddenly feel an uncomfortable guilt wash over me. Just because I promised I wouldn't get close to her doesn't mean I have to be a complete jerk, right? I don't need to actually be Edward Cullen. I pretend that's my justification, but really I just think that to mollify my mind. I just can't bear to leave her yet.

"You know what… I'm sorry I'm being really bitchy," I apologize. She glares harshly at me. I can already hear her ranting in her head, "_All I've been is nice and you're just being completely rude with provocation." _Obviously I don't let her see, but a small smirk slips out. That's my girl. Take no shit.

To show I really mean what I'm saying, I grab a box from her arms and tuck it under my right arm, carrying Brittany's stuffed animals in the other hand. She raises a surprised and skeptical eyebrow. "Which room are you?"

"Clearly you didn't want to grab them, don't feel obligated," she says harshly. She makes a vague motion to take her box back, but she's already dying under the weight of two other heavy looking boxes.

"No I do. I just… am nervous about starting over and stuff and I took it out on you." She raises a curious but far more lenient eyebrow. I can see her muscles loosen from their tense and aggressive position. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch."

"Yeah, you were being a bitch."

I bow my head in apology. "I have been since the day I was born. I'm trying to fix that though. One box at a time." I flash her my most charming, irresistible smile. My head tells me to stop, don't be nice or charming. But my heart tells me otherwise.

She lets out a small laugh and I can tell all is forgiven. "I was a little like that back in high school. Maybe I can help you fix that problem." She motions to the box. "Room nine."

"Lead the way." As we move through the overly crowded hallways I watch her as she walks – glides – through effortlessly. And the way she sways her hips… I can feel my mouth going dry already.

"Here we are!" She somehow manages to fish her key from the chain around her neck and open the door. Immediately, it smells like the same vanilla and lavender of her skin. "You can put the box down anywhere." I cautiously put it down on the floor next to the other eight unpacked boxes. Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a look at what must be her panty box.

"I really appreciate you doing this for me," she says, putting her own boxes down and turning to face me. "I'm sorry it's such a mess. I figured I'd get all the boxes in before I started unpacking."

"Do you need help?" I blurt out. Fuck. I didn't mean to do that. I immediately berate my stupid ass vocal chords and lamia hormones.

"No it's okay," she replies. "You've fulfilled today's requirement," she says jokingly. "Anyways, you have that box of… stuffed animals to return." She eyes me as if she just found out a dirty little secret of mine, bringing stuffed animals to college. She chuckles just enough for me to hear.

"They're my roommates," I try to explain. "Anyways… uh, it was really nice meeting you, although I'm sure you can't say the same to me," I reply playfully.

"You're not so bad. I mean, you are the only person to help me at all today." Why? She's a fucking goddess. I don't know why people aren't lined up down the block offering to carry her boxes for her.

"Oh. Um… well, I've got to go and stuff." Smooth Santana.

"It was cool meeting you. I hope I see you around," Quinn replies before I leave.

"Yeah… Most definitely."

**Love**

"San? Do you have my stuffed animals?" Brittany calls out from the box she's unpacking into her dresser. I walk over to her side of the room and place the box down by her feet.

I slowly make my way back to her bad, falling down as if all the energy in my body has been sucked from me. "Britt?"

Immediately Brittany's head turns towards me and she stops what she's doing. "I know that voice. What happened?"

"I… met her," I can feel the tears threatening to fall.

"You… met your mate?"

"Yeah."

Brittany hesitates before responding. "What's her name?"

"Quinn," I whimper out hoarsely. I moan out of agony and love. Even her name excites me. If I could only say one word for the rest of my life it's be her name.

"That's a beautiful name," she responds.

I can feel myself collapse onto Brittany, "I know." Her presence and arms are the only thing holding me together right now.

Every lamia has a mate. Fact. As a lamia, you already come with great power, but your full powers can never be unlocked until you meet and bond with your mate, tying your souls together in a bonding ritual for eternity.

Unfortunately for me, people fear my full power. So as soon as they found out about my existence a curse was put upon me. My soul mate and I would be separated for all of eternity, therefore preventing me from ever reaching my full power and 'taking over the Maleficiī.' They tried to make it so that my mate would die before we could ever meet, fall in love, and bond. Unfortunately, I was already was too powerful, as was my bond with the mate I had yet to meet, and they couldn't fully kill her.

Instead, every time we met, my love would somehow die and would be reincarnated. Some amount of years later, because the reincarnation process takes awhile, we'd meet again and fall in love all over again, just to have her ripped away from me. I'll be cursed into this life until I die, my mate lives out their life to a natural end, or we complete the bonding ritual. I've tried over and over again, but somehow she always ends up dead and I end up alone.

Our lives were on a constant cycle of blood, life, and love.

"Are you going to try and bond with her?"

"No," I respond immediately. "I can't. I made a promise."

"That was another life."

"I promised her. I promised I'd leave her alone this time," I say, tears beginning to fall.

The last time the two of us met and fell in love she died. On her deathbed, she told me that I had to stop pursuing her. The two of us needed to be put out of our misery. She made me promise to leave her alone the next time we met…


	2. Chapter 2: The Promise

**I wanted to clarify because I know this might be a misconception. When Quinn dies she DOES NOT IMMEDIATELY REINCARNATE. The process takes years or even decades. Therefore, like now, she can die in the 1920's and reincarnate in 2015. That's 95 years later.**

**I really appreciate all the reviews, follows, favorites, and general feedback from you guys. I don't know if this is actually true, but I ****feel**** like this is the best reception I've ever gotten before to a story and all of those reviews, follows, and favorites mean a lot to me. They motivate and drive me and you all are the reason I do it (my own personal gratification over getting complimented is another plus). **

**Feel free to comment opinions or suggestions. I may not take them, but I've been known to. I've changed pivotal plot points before depending on what you guys wanted and your reviews and feedback influence me to, for instance, sometimes look more deeply into relationships I've overlooked.**

**If you see a grammatical error, please let me know I'll change it. Make the experience better for others!**

**A response to some guest reviews:**

** To the one who admitted he ignored it, I really appreciate you giving it a chance despite your hesitations. I can't guarantee you'll like it. It's not going to be dark and scary, but I do promise there's no vegetarian vampires in this at least. I really appreciate you saying commenting about how it's well written and that meant a lot to me.**

** To the one who said it was "Me" and asked why Quinn isn't made a vampire, I want to talk to you about it, but realized I have quite a bit to say and this AN is already too long. If you have an account I'd love to talk to you about this more.**

The Promise

Massachusetts, 1920

Rosario (Santana) &amp; Charlie (Quinn)

Rosario P.O.V

"You're a… what?" Charlie stands there, stunned. I can see the terror in her eyes, her pupils bulging out in fear and horror. Her lip began to quiver ever so slightly as she instinctively took a step away from me, clutching at her white-lace, knee-length dress.

"Vampire," I reply. I stand stoically in her dorm room. I feel like the prey in this situation, afraid to make any sudden movements. If I do she may notice me, she may attack. I stand there in vain, knowing she already will.

"Blood sucking? Catches fire in the sun? Human killer?" Charlie lists off, still in a frazzled state. I'm all too aware of the vein in her neck, pumping out, tempting me to take a bite. The thudding of her heart pulls me towards the precipice, ready to fall out and taste that succulent skin, blood hitting my taste buds.

I flinch slightly, drawing myself out of the blood trance. Stop. Focus. Breathe. My eyes return to hers as her hand reaches up to protect her neck. "I don't kill people," I respond formally.

I want to walk over, embrace her in my arms, and calm all her fears. She knows me. She knows who I am. We fell in love together. I want to remind her that I'm the same person she fell in love with. This new revelation changes nothing.

But each reincarnation with her she's different. Sometimes I know that when I tell her I'm a lamia or that this is her umpteenth time being reborn, she should be enveloped in my arms. Right now, as Charlie, I know who she is. She's a privileged, manipulative, kindhearted, logical individual. Right now she doesn't want emotions to rule over her. Any decision she makes emotionally I know she'll question later. Right now she needs the facts and the logic laid out. No emotions.

"Then what do you do?"

If not for my hundreds of years learning how to conceal my emotions, I would've cringed. I don't really want to tell her how I feed. I know it's a part of who I am and I know she'll eventually have to learn all of this, and eventually have to do this herself, but I don't want to tell her this right now. It might be an overload of negative information that will send her fleeing away from me.

"I drink human's blood, make sure they're okay and will recover, and then wipe their memory." It sounds awful when I say it, but I'm one of the more humane drinkers.

"That's barbaric," she says, repulsed. "You can't just treat us as your own personal meat sacs!"

"That is not how I see you," I reply calmly.

"No? Then how do you see me?"

"I see you as a brilliant, courageous, and strong girl named Charlotte, but dare call her that and she'll beat you up. You are nothing like me, but not because of our species', but because of who you are inside as a person," I reply.

She scoffs at me. "And what about the rest of humanity? How do you see them?"

I tread this question carefully. It's true that when I see them, the first thing I think about is what type of blood they have and how easily I could kill them. But I see more than that. "I see them as people, just as deserving as anyone else."

Charlie visibly softens a little bit, her dangerous and angry expression giving way to a lighter expression. It is made up less of anger and more of curiosity and interest. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Look at my face, Charlie. You can tell when I'm lying," I encourage her. Her eyes narrow, inspecting every honest inch of my face. After a minute or two, scrutinizing every part of me under a microscope, she seems to accept my answer as the truth.

"What else have you been hiding from me?"

"Not tonight," I tell her.

"No. You've been lying to me since the start of this relationship and stringing me along. I honestly can't even trust that you love me anymore. So if you do you have to prove it to me. You have to come clean and tell me the truth about everything."

"You think I don't love you?" I reply. I can feel whatever semblances of a beating heart I have left in my chest begin to crumble. I stare straight into those beautiful, hazel eyes that leer at me skeptically. I notice her shiver from the intensity of my stare. Good. I want to unnerve her. I want to make sure this gets through to her. "I love you more than anything else in this fucking world." I don't say it pouring out with emotion. I don't beg her to believe me. I don't yell it at her in a passionate rage. I state it to her a simple, true, undeniable fact. I don't need to make her believe it because there's nothing to doubt. I love her.

Charlie had always been a talker. When I first met her she talked my ear off – not that I minded. I love the sound of her voice. In the months I'd known and fallen in love with this amazing creature that is so beautifully human, this was the first time I'd ever seen Charlie truly speechless.

After a few minutes of standing there in silence too loud to be described with only one adjective, she spoke. "I—I need you to go now."

"Okay."

"I—" She looks at me confused. I didn't mean to read them, but her thoughts are practically screaming at me. She wants to tell me she'll call me and see me tomorrow, but she can't. She wants to, but she's no longer sure she can. "Bye, Rosario."

**Blood**

Charlie P.O.V

I worriedly continue pacing outside of her apartment door. It's been a week since I've spoken to Rosario, the longest we've ever gone since we'd met. I don't know how else I'm supposed to react to the person you love telling you she is a vampire.

Every waking minute I've been debating in my head what this all means for her, for me, and for us. Can I love a vampire? What does that even mean: vampire?

I went to the library, not unusual for me as I spend a lot of my time researching and reading, but what was unusual was the reading material I checked out. Where I normally would have checked out research books and text about economic growth and politics, this time I had checked out every book that even mentioned the word vampire. The librarian gave me quite a weird look when she saw my book selection.

I spent all week reading and rereading each book as if it were gospel or it had all the information I'd ever need to succeed in life. I read Native-American legends about vampires, I read research books written by people that history had labeled crazy (I wasn't so sure anymore), and even went as far to read completely inaccurate fiction like Sheridan La Fanu's "Carmilla" just in case it had a scrap of accuracy.

I swear my roommate thought I was going crazy as I took down my poster of "Alice in Wonderland," my favorite book of all time, and replaced it with a wall dedicated to vampires. I began writing down every myth and legend on that board, recording which appeared the most, therefore making it the most probable to be accurate. I listed all the possible knowledge I might have on vampires and even compiled a mental list of questions I'd ask Rosario, that is if I ever decided to speak to her again.

In that week I became more secluded than I ever had in my life, learned more about vampires than I ever had, and lived off of only coffee. I had discovered a lot and very little.

So now here I am, standing at Rosario's door, carrying a small notebook whose contents consist of various theorems and myths on vampires that I need to clear up before I can even fathom continuing to date Rosario.

Just as I'm about to knock – albeit this is my fifth attempt at knocking – Rosario opens the door. "Are you going to come in?" It always astounded me how she did it. I always thought it was so sexy. Now, I can't help but question everything she does.

"How did you know I was there? Is that a vampire thing?" I accuse.

"No, I could hear you pacing and doing that cute little talking to yourself thing under your breath," Rosario replies smoothly. I can feel myself blush. I hate how she can still do that to me.

"So, is that a uh- thing then! Do vampires have like super strength hearing?" I ask, regaining my bearings.

"No, the walls in this building just suck and I can hear through them as if there was nothing there at all, which is why I'd appreciate if you kept your voice down so that my neighbors don't also know what I am."

"Don't the citizens of New York deserve to know there's a violent bloodsucker on the loose?" I challenge.  
"I'm not violent."

"Then what are you?"

"More than you think I'm capable of," she responds.

What does that mean? More than I think her capable of? I know she's capable of a lot of things. Is that a threat? Is she threatening me? No. She'd never threaten me. She loves me. Doesn't she? Can she even love me? "What do you mean?" I ask, now desperate for her to answer this entirely new question I had not come prepared to ask.

"It'll become clear." Ever since the day I met her she's been mysterious. I always thought it was sexy. Now I'm questioning everything about her. I don't need mystery. I need her to be honest and clear with me. "Now, I know you came here for a reason. Why?" she waltzes over to her bed, comfortably leaning back. For a moment she looks so relaxed and free I almost believe she's human.

"I-um," I begin stuttering over my words. So much for coming in like a confident badass. "I came to ask you some questions."

"Well then, ask away," she says. She stares straight into my eyes and I begin to wonder if maybe she's controlling my mind. According to Van Helsing, leading expert on vampires, psychic abilities are incredibly possible. Plus, I already know she can wipe people's minds. Mind control isn't such a big leap from there.

I decide that it'd be best to start off simple and work from there. "Do you drink human blood?"

"Yes. Obviously."

"Do you ever think you could stop?" I look up at her hopefully from behind the hair sweeping over my face, hiding my expression of desire for her to say yes.

"No. I'd die. Animal blood will never sustain me." I can feel all of my hopes begin to die as I look down for a moment and brush my hair out of my face. It was a naïve, immature thought anyways. Of course she can't. She's a vampire.

"So then you're not immortal?"

"No."

"What kills you?"

"I can't tell you all my secrets," she says with a twinkle in my eyes.

"Afraid to tell me how to kill you?"

"A little," she admits, but I can tell she's joking. I don't know if I should be offended that she thinks I can't kill her. "I didn't exactly expect for our relationship to lead to conversations about murdering each other."

"Well, you probably should've. You're a vampire after all," I retort impertinently.

"True. Anyways, continue on. I'm sure you'll come up with a few ways to kill me by the end of this conversation." She says it humorously, but I can tell the idea saddens her. I don't blame her.

"Do you have super speed and strength?"

"All of the above, plus I also have super senses," she says confidently, almost with an air of mystery. It only makes me feel even more uncomfortable and a little bit scared of her.

"Can you fly?"

"Only in my dreams."

"You dream?" I didn't expect that. I honestly wasn't even sure if she slept. She could've been faking it the whole time we were together. I don't know how being undead affects your sleeping and dreaming habits.

"Of course." I suddenly feel stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

"Do you have a reflection?"

"Yes. It'd be difficult to look this good otherwise," she says with that wink that makes me lose any train of thought I might've had.

"So does that mean that you show up on film as well?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Do you have a shadow?"

"No." How did I never realize she doesn't have a shadow? I thought I knew her better than I knew myself, but here I find myself not knowing the simplest, most obvious things about her. How was this not apparent and obvious?

Maybe I did already know and just wasn't ready to accept it. Sweet denial, how I miss you.

"Do you burst into flame upon touching sunlight? If so, how do you still manage to walk in the sun?" I know that she can walk in the sun; she's done it before when we've walked nearly hand-in-hand (had we actually walked hand in hand everyone would judge us) through Central Park. Still, I had to check. She could have some anklet or be drinking some… fairy blood or something to stay in the sunlight. Are fairies a thing?

"I do not burst into flame," she replies. She looks like she's holding in a chuckle. I begin to feel so foolish for questioning her. "Sunlight… weakens me and it's uncomfortable, but I can function perfectly fine."

"Are there other supernatural creatures out there?"

She hesitates for a moment, as if she considers lying to me. I send her a tell-me-the-truth glare. "Yes."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Sometimes," she admits.

"What else is out there?"

"Charlie, it would take us hours just to list the core group of supernatural creatures out there," she replies, looking at me like I'm nothing more than a naïve human.

"I've got time," I respond coolly.

Rosario lets out a sigh. "Vampires, werewolves, succubus', fairies, Valkyries, dragons, nymphs, sirens," she begins counting them on her fingers. Eight already. I'm barely getting enough time to write them all down. It looks like I have a lot of research to do at the library. "Skin walkers, demons, angels—"

She's about to continue and I want to let her, but I can't resist asking. My curiosity is too great. "Angels and demons? Does… does that mean there's a God?"

Rosario gives an indifferent shrug. "It's undetermined."

"How can it be undetermined?" I demand.

"Gods and goddesses exist," Rosario says nonchalantly, as if this news was nothing. All the religions would have a field day with this revelation. "I should know, my mother was one, but—"

"YOUR MOTHER WAS A GODDESS?!" I'm dating the daughter of a goddess… and she's also a vampire. I let out a frustrated sigh. I'm so out of my league here.

"Yes."

"What does that make you?" I ask still in shock.

"An amazing, sexy woman who wants nothing more than to worship your body and take you out to dinner," she responds in that classic Rosario way that makes me remember who I know her as… if I even know her at all anymore. Her cheeky grin fades when I don't laugh in response. "It makes me part goddess' child and part vampire," she responds seriously.

"Oh." Fuck. I'm in love with the child of a goddess. How am I supposed to compete with that? I nervously clear my throat, "Back to God then." Those are four words I never thought I'd be saying, especially under this context.

"God in the context of the Christian Church… it's impossible to tell if he exists. Even for some angels. And any angels that do know are forbidden to speak of it."

I gulp, suddenly beginning to feel a bit light headed. I need to change the subject. I need to focus back in on something… Rosario. Granted my girlfriend is a vampire and she sucks human blood for sustenance and she might be part goddess, but she is still my girlfriend. She's still Rosario. It'll be much easier just to pay attention to her.

"Right… so um, back to the uh, questions about you," I say, digressing from our digression. "Is decapitation fatal for you?"

She lets out a laugh that somehow manages to put me at ease. "Yes, of course. I'm a vampire, not invincible." I mentally cross off Sheridan La Fanu as a credible source on vampires.

"Drowning and fires?"

"Once again, I'm not invincible, Rosario replies. "I will say, though, that I can withstand temperatures up to 700 degrees above and below." Fuck. That's actually pretty hot. The only thing that runs through my mind is Rosario rushing out of a fire.

"Will garlic kill you?"

"In small amounts it'll feel like getting stabbed through the chest," Rosario begins. I wonder if she actually knows what it's like to be stabbed in the chest. "In a large enough quantity, "Maybe a liter," she hypothesizes, "It'd kill me. I hope you don't use this weakness against me!" The joking tone of her voice does nothing to ease the tension in the room.

"Silver?"

"That's absolutely ridiculous." I cross off the word 'silver' from my notebook.

"Holy symbols and exorcisms?"

"No." Her response is short and clipped. There's not a joke or any continuation upon her answer. She has a rather sour look on her face, as if a bad memory associated with it.

"Are invitations necessary for you to enter a new place?"

"Sometimes."

"When?"

"To enter any holy place I do need an invitation. Good thing Harvard wasn't build on holy ground, huh?" she grins, back to her normal self.

"Can you… uh, shape shift… like into a bat? Or really anything?"

"In no way can I shape shift into anything but me. I could look like a guy if I really wanted to start cross-dressing," she seems just about to finish talking when she adds in, "Which wouldn't be that unusual. Its been recorded to have been around since Grecian times."

I gape. I always sort of thought Rosario's uncanny knowledge of history was just because she had her head in a book like me. Now I just wonder how long she's been alive. "How… how old are you? Are you immortal?"

"In theory I am, but I can be killed. As for my age, I'm 560 years… roughly."

Fuck. Talk about an age difference. Shit… I'm attracted to someone who is approximately 540 years my senior. They have so much more life experience than me. Will this affect the power dynamic of our relationship? Of course it will. She's a vampire. She can probably tear me to pieces. Does her age make her the dominant one… as if she weren't already?

Wait! How many people has she dated? Has she had sex with a ton of other people before me? I knew she wasn't a virgin but that's 500+ years to get around… Was I going to contract sexual diseases? Can vampires get sexual diseases? Can they even reproduce?

"No. Not for that reason. Yes, but you're the only one that matters. No. No. No."

Her voice pulls me out of my minor panic attack (the number of those have increased as of this week). "What?"

"No, this won't affect the power dynamic of our relationship. I will be the dominant one, but I always have been and this has nothing to do with my age or my species. It has to do with out personalities. I'm glad you acknowledge that I'm the dom though," she winks sneakily at me. "Yes I've slept with many other people. I'll admit it's been so many I can't even name them all, but you're the only one I care to remember. I am clean of sexual diseases, which is easy to tell because I can't contract them. I can't get pregnant and if I were male I could not impregnate you."

"Did… Did I just say all that aloud?" I blush.

"No."

I can practically feel my pupils dilating and my breath leaving my lungs. "Did… you just read my mind?"

"Yes."

"YOU READ MY MIND?!"

"Yes."

"Have you read my mine before?"

"Not purposefully."

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?" I suddenly feel all of my privacy and little secrets and all my thoughts stolen from me as if nothing is sacred anymore. Any part of myself I shared with her, she already knew. She crossed my boundaries and she delved into my mind. That's the most intrusive, unhealthy, uncomfortable thing. I'm not sure I could ever be in a relationship with someone who could do that.

"It means that I have never ever intentionally read your mind. I have always respected you boundaries," she answers. "It's only when your thoughts are so loud they're yelling at me and I can't mentally block them out. That is when I read your mind. Otherwise, I try to allow you your own personal space."

"I…" I can feel my mind exploding behind my skull. Every moment we've ever spent together, every thought I had, I begin to overanalyze. That day I was really sad and really just wanted Rosario, did she come because she was intuitive, by chance, or because she read my mind? When I wanted her to be more romantic did she know? When I wanted her to step back and let me have enough room to breathe did she read my mind and figure it out?

Does she know what I think of her? Does she know what I think when we're just laying down in bed cuddling? Did she read my mind before we even met? Did she choose me because I was an easy target? Am I an easy target? Am I a target?

I suddenly begin to feel a tugging in my chest like I can't get enough air and my brain goes fuzzy. This is not normal. I think I'm having an honest to god panic attack right now.

"Charlie, calm down." Rosario jumps off the bed and makes a move to help me stay standing. One half of me wants to feel her arms around me, but right now the idea of her touching me makes me nauseous.

"Stay back," I warn, taking my own step backwards and towards her door. She stops coming towards me and remains next to her bed. "I… this is a lot to process. I need to go."

And with that, I rush out of the room.

**Life**

"Welcome Ms. Tremaine," Mr. Daniels, one of the Harvard administrators, introduces as he takes a seat behind a grand, wooden table that looks like its been carved only from the finest mahogany. The table draws a very clear divide between the two of us.

There are 5 pairs of eyes, staring straight into me. They look at me like I'm a piece of meat and they're vultures, ready to pick me apart and tear me to pieces. They look at me the same way all those people in high school yelling at me that because I was a girl and because I was a loser I was never going to make it into a college. I can't help but feel vulnerable, revealed and naked, under their looks.

"Hello," I reply nervously. Hold your head up high, Charlie. You have to command the room. You have to dare them to look at you. Most people in the world are cowards that expect you to look down at your feet the moment they glance at you. You have to meet their eye and startle them. Challenge them. Prove you belong here.

I fix my hazel eyes on each and every one of them. Some of them do back down, but others continue to fiercely meet my gaze as if they truly believe they are superior to me.

"Charlotte, may I call you Charlotte?"

"Charlie is fine." I try to sound confident, but behind my back my hands are rubbing against each other nervously and fidgeting with the cuffs on my blazer.

The men look around at each other with conspiratorial glances and quiet whispers as if I'd just proven some horrible, devious thing by stating my nickname for the record.

"Charlotte," the same man, Mr. Daniels, continues, clearly disregarding the name I gave him. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No, I don't."

Mr. Daniels clears his throat, allowing another person to step in and speak. The man to the farthest left of the table, his nameplate claiming him to be 'Benedict Steele,' decided to fill the silence with his accusatory, booming voice. "It has come to our attention that you have been participating in homosexual activities."

Stay calm. I take a deep breath and mentally count up in my head. Do not give anything away. Keep your eyes normal, blink at the appropriate times, do not blush. Pretend your face is surrounded by ice so cold blushing red from heat or embarrassment isn't possible. Put on your mask and keep it on. Ice queen.

On the inside though, I can feel everything in my body begin to panic. My heart race began to quicken, my head began to spin, my breath got shorter as if in pants, my legs had the sudden urge to run, and my hands began tapping against each other. My mind is on overdrive coming up with excuse:

"Oh I just… fell into her vagina."

"We were only holding hands as friends."

"She lost her mother that day. She really needed to be comforted."

"This is the 20th century. Women just got the right to vote. We are powerful. If we want to be overly affectionate friends let us be. Don't be on the wrong side of history."

"We're friends who I just happen to go out to dinner with a lot."

"You're overreacting."

"Yeah, I have been following my incredibly gay tendencies today. What of it?"

"As if you wouldn't find it hot to see us making out."

"I have I am so sorry please let me repent for my sins."

"She and I are just friends, but we're expressing our public affection for each other."

Each one sounded more and more ridiculous. I would've laughed at some of them had the situation not been far more serious. I had nothing, no good comeback, no redemption. I was utterly and completely floored.

We had been so careful. From the day we met at Mr. Bass's party we had been nearly inseparable. Once a relationship started we made sure to cover our tracks well. Never spend too much time together in public. Date other people every once in awhile for the sake of appearances. Never hold hands in public and be careful when going to gay bars and drag shows.

Things changed after I found out about Rosario being a vampire and my being her mate and everything about my reincarnation cycle. It took some time but I eventually accepted that I love her despite all of that. We did, admittedly, become more open. I had been freezing her out so long that as soon as we got back together, it was like getting hooked back on a drug and I couldn't live without her.

What had we done that had gotten us caught? Was it the quiet whispers in the library? Was it that one game of footsie we played under the dinner table once when we were out with friends? Did we get caught because of that gay bar we went to last week? Worst of all, was it just written on our faces like a big, rainbow sign? Was there no hiding? No discretion?

"To what do you refer?" I finally ask, deciding to neither confirm nor deny it.

"She is a homosexual! Any straight woman would immediately deny their actions in such sinful and promiscuous activity," another more cowardly man who looked in his mid-forties shouted out. He looked like the kind who still lived at home alone, visiting his mother every weekend because she was the only woman who would ever be in his life.

I pursed my lips. "Or perhaps a homosexual would immediately get up in their own defense in order to mislead you into believing their heterosexuality," I retort smoothly. "And considering you were looking for any possible examples of my sexuality being anything other than heterosexual, no matter how desperately pitiful they were, shows that you have no real evidence of this." Play it cool, Charlie.

"We have several allegations from various students and even a teacher of this illicit behavior," Mr. Bass says, taking control of the room once again. "Some classmates have said you appear too close with a girl named Rosario Cruz." The way he says her name, as if it's toxic, makes me growl inside. He doesn't deserve to utter her name. "You've been seen holding hands by one student," he begins to list, "Some foul language between the two of you has been used, and you've been seen together in a movie theater participating in appropriate activities."

It had been dark in the theater. Everybody was focused on the screen and we were in the back row. The theater was relatively empty anyways. We had thought it was okay, that no one would see us. She barely kissed me in there. It was hardly even to first base.

"Those are false allegations," I reply bitingly.

"Are you accusing two students and a faculty advisor of conspiring together and soiling your name?"

"Of course not," I reply quickly. Accusing other people, people that this board of 5 white, male, heterosexual men see as good people, will get me nowhere. "I'm saying perhaps they misinterpreted what they saw."

"And how do you suggest that one misinterprets a kiss?"

"It was simply a friendly action. A kiss on the cheek," I try to argue.

"I'm afraid that is not the report we received, Charlotte. It was said that it was on the mouth in a romantic sense."

"Who can judge what is romance and what is only a friendly action?" I challenge. I can feel myself losing this battle.

"Ms. Tremaine, I'm afraid this is not up for discussion," the man sitting next to Mr. Daniels pitches in. "The consequences of this matter were already decided before you came into this room. We do not tolerate these blatant acts against our morality clause and therefore must expel you from Harvard."

"WHAT!" I can feel my blood, boiling before, hit volcanic temperatures as I begin to explode. I completely disregard any formalities and procedures I may have been following before. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS! THIS IS SEXIST AND HOMOPHOBIC AND—"

"Ms. Tremaine, please calm down," the man continues soothingly.

"MY NAME IS CHARLIE!"

"Charlie," Mr. Daniels, the most calm and apparently well-versed in tenuous situations like this, steps in. "I'm afraid we cannot tolerate this lewd behavior and this matter is not up for discussion. You may pack up your things and leave campus."

As I look into his cold, unsympathetic, and detached eyes I know there's no hope. There's no point I could argue that would change their minds or convince them what they're doing is wrong and what I do in my personal life is not. They're just a group of xenophobic, bigoted men and there's no reasoning with that.

Deciding to stop before I lose all my pride, I leave the room, allowing the door to slam shut for good measure.

**Love**

"Can you grab that box and bring it to the carriage?"

"Charlie, are you sure you're okay?" Rosario asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I respond. Lie. "I just need you to, uh, carry that box out." I can hear my voice crack as I order her away. I appreciate her helping me move out and offering me a warm bed at her place, but right now I just need to be alone so that I can break down in tears in solitude.

I'm strong. I'm unbreakable. Or, I thought I was. I've always been ruled by logic and reason before emotion, but this is putting a strain on my Ice Queen mask. It's like I'm surrounded by fire and there's not a drop of water around and only more oxygen to burn.

I thought that moving out of my Harvard dorm would be the easiest part. I knew I wasn't going to end up on the street once Rosario offered me a room with her (if I had any other choice I'd say no because that's such a jumping commitment in our relationship), but it still hurt. It was almost symbolic of me officially leaving and it's leaving me more emotional than I expected.

"I've always got your back, Charlie," she replies as she begins to pick up the heavy box and walk out of my room, sensing or perhaps reading my thoughts that are telling her I need to be alone right now.

"Thanks babe," I call out as I continue folding my shirts. The moment I hear the sound of the door closing I stop folding and just collapse. I let all of the weight, guilt, and shame pressing on my shoulders finally weigh me down as I slip onto the floor. I immediately let the tears leak out of my eyes, thinking maybe it'll help relieve this pressure on me. Unfortunately, tears can't solve everything.

I don't know how long I'm sitting there, just letting everything bring me down. Even though it doesn't really help, I continue doing it under the false hope that it will. Eventually though, I trudge up off the ground, wipe away the tears and red blotches on my face, and continue folding my shirts like an animatronic robot set to: fold.

Slowly but surely, the all of my shirts were folded and neatly in a box. The settings changed to fit my new purpose and fold became: carry boxes outside. As soon as I lifted up the box I could feel the actual, physical weight of the world against me. I wanted nothing more than to give up trying to carry it, let it crush me until I eventually was too crushed into pieces to even reincarnate.

But I didn't. I would get through these hard times and come out for the better. I'd prove that I could make it past all the bad in the world and overcome every hardship it would send my way. I am strong, powerful mountain. I do not bow to the wind, no matter how harsh, rushing towards me.

As I walk through the hallways I spot Jesse St. James, Jake, Marley, and the rest of my normal crowd of friends. "Hey!" I say, flagging them down. Immediately, I see Jake put his head down and pick up his pace ever so slightly. That's when I knew something was wrong. "Guys?" I call out again.

As if it were a chore to look up at me, one of his closest friends, Jesse looks up at me with a guilty look on his face. He tries to look sociable and friendly, like he's happy to see me, but I'm an expert at hiding emotions and I can tell when someone's faking it like he is. "Charlie!" He rushes over. "What are you doing?" he asks, motioning towards the box in my hands.

"Didn't you hear?" I ask suspiciously as I set the box down. I know Harvard would want to keep it hush, hush that they'd had a lesbian at their school. He shouldn't know. That's why I'm asking.

"Of course not," he replies smoothly, lying between his teeth. "What happened?" I almost believe he cares.

"I got kicked out for immoral behavior," I respond.

"What!" He's the only one who lets out a sound of shock. The rest of them just stare uncomfortably at their shoes, fidgeting around waiting for the moment I leave.

"Yes, I just wanted to say goodbye to you guys!" I say, faking joy just as much as them. I think they already know exactly why I was kicked out and I think I already know why they're denying that knowledge. I just need to do one little test.

Starting with Jesse, I go around the group giving them a hug. First Jesse, then Jake, and I get to my really target. Marley. I walk up to her with a smile and my arms wide open to hug her, but she backs away. I do the same, sneering at her. "I knew it." With that, I pick up the box and walk away out the door.

They were the ones who told the board that I was with Santana. The guys were stiff, as I expected, but okay with my hugging them. Y however, couldn't bear to have me touch her. She was too afraid I'd get my gay all over her. She was afraid the moment I touched her I'd orgasm. Foolishness.

Still, it hurts. I thought they were my friends. I always knew they wouldn't be the easiest to convince of my lifestyle, but I never imagined they'd betray me like that.

And as I place the box in the carriage, Rosario waiting for me with a large and hopeful grin, I begin to resent her. It's only for a moment, but the seed has been placed.

**Blood**

"Charlotte, how did you let this happen?!" I cringe as my dad continues to yell at me. "You had top grades! Harvard is my Alma Pater! You've disgraced me and shamed our entire name by getting kicked out! You had finally done something right!"

"I—I'm sorry Daddy," I reply, on the verge of tears.

"Shut up! I don't need to hear your sad, sorry apologies. And if it weren't already enough I find out that you got kicked out because you've become a dyke!" I cringe as he says that word. "I'd come over there and whoop your ass until the good Lord came back to you again, but I honestly can't stand to see your face."

I can feel what little of the heart I have left, break. I had never been the favorite of my parents. Zachariah had always been the good child. For starters, he was male, already making him the better child. He was smart, popular, and handsome. He always followed all my parents' rules and he was on the fast track to becoming one of the most powerful people in America. If there were written rules to being the perfect child, he knew all of them like the back of his hand. My whole life I had fought him tooth and nail to be better in the eyes of my parents and he'd won every single time.

He applied to Harvard, but he didn't get in. He went to UPenn instead, a very good school. That was the only time my father had been disappointed, but he still bragged about his expert son going to this amazing college. When I got into Harvard my father called it a miracle. He couldn't believe it himself that I'd gotten in, but that didn't stop him from bragging about it. I didn't care that he took all the credit for my getting in because for once I was the golden, star child. I had finally found a way into his good graces.

Now, I had finally fulfilled the expectations he'd always had for me. I ended up being a failure of a daughter and a failure of a person. "Charlotte," he continues. "Your mother and I have decided that we're going to cut you off. We're no longer going to provide you with money. You're no longer invited to the house every Christmas, at least not well you continue living this lifestyle."

"Dad," I beg. "Please don't do this. If you love me at all, don't do this! Please! I need you! I love you!"

His steely voice projects over the phone lines with seven words I never wanted to hear. "Don't come by the house ever again."

**Life**

I can't believe that it's a Wednesday night and I'm out at the movies, publicly, with my girlfriend. Two weeks ago I'd be in my dorm room studying my ass off. I remember sitting there studying, wishing for this opportunity to have Rosario take me to the movies and kiss me on the cheek, in front of everyone, on a Wednesday night. Now, I'd love nothing more than to return to that stuffy dorm room.

All of my dreams and goals of becoming one of the first female lawyers was gone. I was going to make history. I was going to bring criminals to justice and be powerfully successful. I'd have a small, quiet romance with Rosario where we'd eventually come out when society was kinder to gay rights. I was going to bring home the proverbial bacon and invite my friends over once a month for a regular dinner where we'd catch up and remember the 'good old days.' In 10 years I was going to come back to Harvard and look back on my days fondly and give them a large endowment that was barely a hundredth of my regular paycheck. It was all just a dream that, in one fell swoop, was stolen from me.

"Babe, you have to get out of your thoughts," Rosario drags a finger along my chin, forcing me to look up. We're here to distract you and bring a smile to that stunning face of yours. I'm going to grab the tickets. I heard that "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" was really good!" She gives me a rushed kiss as she hurries into the theater.

I consider going in and grabbing some seats, but I need to stay out here for a second. I just need to catch my breath and prepare myself. Rosario is right. I need to let loose and forget about everything that has happened. Now if only I knew how to start doing that…

Suddenly, I feel something hard and cold forced up against my back as a warm figure appears behind me, body flush against mine. "Give me this pretty little necklace," a thick voice says, playing with the diamonds around my neck, "And no one gets hurt."

I briefly consider my options in this singular moment of panic. I could give him the necklace and live or I could refuse and potentially die or potentially live to see him run like a coward. The logical part of my brain is telling me just to hand it over. You have so much to live for.

The other side of my brain, perhaps the more emotional and extremely volatile, vulnerable, and more dominant side (as of the moment) is telling me something else entirely. This necklace is one of my most valuable objects, not monetarily, but sentimentally. My mother and father gave it to me when I officially went through with my confirmation. This is all I have left of them right now. And, if I'm being one hundred percent honest with myself, I don't exactly have a ton to live for. My friends, my family, and my school have all abandoned me and all my dreams are crushed. And it's all because of one girl.

I quickly debate in my head before making a decision. "No."

As soon as the word leaves my mouth the gun digs harder into my back. "Sweetheart, I'm only gonna ask one more time." His slimy, low voice hisses in my ear and almost makes me shiver, but I refuse to show him fear. "Give me those diamonds."

Taking a deep and confident breath, feeling alive for the first time in two weeks, I respond. "I said no," I growl back. I an feel the beads straining against my neck as he pulls back on them, simultaneously trying to rip them off my neck and choke me out. I fight against him, clutching at my neck as the air leaves my lungs. I contemplate what would've happened had I just given him the necklace.

I kick and I try to scream, but my airway is blocked off and I can't make a sound. I won't let him take it. These were from my parents. It's all I have left. I can't let him take it.

So I tug harder, kick more forcefully, and do everything I can to fight against this scum. That is, until I hear a piercing gunshot and feel an indescribable, excruciating pain through my stomach. I can already feel the blood seeping through my dress.

"Fucking bitch," I hear him curse under his breath as he finally rips the diamonds off from around my neck. Just like the coward he is, he runs away and leaves me dying in the street.

"CHARLIE!?" I hear Rosario cry out. I never thought death would hurt this much. I should've known. I let out a weak chuckle. "Charlie what happened?" Rosario rushes over and begins holding the wound with her hand, trying to keep my insides inside of me.

I notice her eyes dilate and her breath hitches from the smell of my blood, and so much of it being spilled by the second. She tries to calm herself. She stops breathing so she can't smell it anymore, but I can already see her fangs revealing themselves.

"Some guy stole my necklace," I respond, blood choking out with the words.

"Charlie, stay with me. I can turn you!" She leans down to bite my neck, but I put a hand on her chest to stop her from getting any closer.

"Stop. Don't." As soon as I say the words I see her heart break behind those chocolate, cocoa eyes. She knows.

"Charlie," she begs weakly. She already knows it's over.

"I don't want to be… what you are," I say. Each word is getting harder and harder to say. "I want to die. It's okay." The tears spill freely out of her eyes. I can feel them fall onto my face and mix with mine.

"Charlie please stop," she replies.

"I've lost too much in this life to ever truly be happy again. Rosario Cruz, I love you more than anything in this world."

"I love you too, Charlotte Tremaine." She grips her warm, soft hands around my already weakening one.

"But I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"In my next life… let me be. Let me live my life without all this pain and heartbreak. I… I don't think my spirit can go through this again," I admit. My breath is coming out shakier and heavier with each heave. "Promise me." I look into her eyes. I have to know that she'll do this.

"I… I promise, Charlie. I promise," she whispers.

I'm becoming too weak to speak. I can feel myself fading fast. It's scary not knowing what's going to happen to me when I die, but for some reason I feel content, even comforted. Wherever I'm going, maybe it'll ease the pain I've felt in this life.

With my last burst of energy, I make sure to think loud enough for Rosario to hear me loud and clear. _You're the one person I regret leaving behind._

**Love**

**Hey guys, so I know that one was incredibly long, but I felt like it needed to be. I liked laying out all of Santana's powers so now you guys have that knowledge and know all of her restrictions and abilities.**

**Not-So-Fun-Fact: A council much like this (I can't be sure, but I read this somewhere) actually did exist at Harvard at one point. Although somebody should check my facts.**

**I can't guarantee every chapter will be this long. They'll all just be whatever length they end up being depending on how much I have to say.**

**So, with that I bid you ado. **


	3. Chapter 3: The Party

**I don't always read AN and sometimes mine aren't always relevant but sometimes they have pivotal information.**

**1\. So, somebody asked me about Quinn's reincarnation cycle a little more. She does not look the same every reincarnation cycle. She's different every time. She's been reincarnated approximately ten times.**

**2\. The Bonding Ritual: If it is a vampire trying to turn their mate it must be done so that they are both in love, their mate must know the other person is a vampire, and the mate must consent. However, if it is a vampire just turning any person (or even another person's mate as long as it's not their own) these three things do not have to apply at all.**

**3\. Thank you so much, Fact Checker, it took me five seconds and I went in and changed the bit about Anne Rice for more accuracy**

**4\. Somebody posed a question about why Santana didn't just wipe the council and her friends' minds and it got me thinking I never justified that. If you're interested in why, I can explain in great depth to you personally. Just send me a review or PM.**

**5\. I also put recaps at the beginning of all my present day chapters so if you forgot what happened but don't want to go back and reread like 28 chapters, you can read the per-chapter recaps in like 1/16 of the time. In all the flashback chapters, I will put down under Recap only the chapter numbers of other chapters in that time periods for reference point. So, if chapter 2 and 8 are from the same time period in the recap for chapter 8 I will write that down for the reader's advantage.**

**Recap: Brittany and Santana, both vampires, move into their freshman dorm at Yale. Santana, having been born of goddess and vampire not turned, comes with a little extra power like mind reading, enhanced super speed and strength, and better restraint against the urge to drink blood. Due to this the supernatural community, Malefici****ī****, fear her and cursed her soul mate to die every time she meets. On an elevator ride, she meets sophomore Quinn Fabray – her soul mate. She's so tempted to get romantically involved with her, but remembers a promise made in a past life that said she'd leave Quinn alone this incarnation.**

The Party

Quinn's P.O.V

There's a myth in Chinese culture called "The Red String of Fate." It states that when we're born, around every person's ankle is a red string of fate that leads to the people that are destined to touch your life.

Its always fascinated me, being another one of those 'unknowns' that nobody will every truly know the answer to. It's based purely on faith and personal experience. I don't know if the red string of fate is real or not, but I like to think that it, or the same general concept of fate, is real. There are just some people who I can't imagine not meeting. My life would be so different.

In high school I was a bit… rebellious as a freshman. My parents had just one through an awful divorce and I wasn't coping well. I died my hair pink, pierced my nose, got a Ryan Seacrest tattoo, and started wearing a lot of revealing crop tops. I didn't give a fuck and made sure people knew it. I decided that doing drugs and sleeping away my pain would work.

One night I had been smoking some weed and was buzzed on wine coolers. The guy I went to for all that shit, Jake, was around. One thing led to another and next thing I know I'm straddling his waist and his dick is ramming into me.

It was about a month or so later when I hadn't had my period and realized exactly what happened. The sheer panic that flooded me was enough to get my shit together. I was too young to have a baby, especially with a guy who could never be a father. I had a future, even if it was just doing drugs, and a baby was going to ruin it. My father would probably officially disown me. I'd never graduate from high school to get even a relatively decent job. Getting an abortion certainly wasn't possible. I could never do it.

For three months I was pregnant with that baby. Jake was helping pay medical bills with his drug money and I was doing my best to hide it from everybody. Then, one night, I was bleeding. Heavily.

I had lost the baby.

What was worst of all was the immediate thought I had as soon as I realized. I was happy. I was grateful that I'd get my life back and I wouldn't have some other human being relying on me. The entire ordeal was sobering. I got my shit together. I dyed my hair back and let it grow naturally, got my tattoo laser removed, went out and bought some dresses, and started studying like never before. I was going to do something with my life and I wasn't going to let some stupid, drunken and high night ever ruin my life again. Admittedly, I did keep the nose ring.

Still, if I hadn't met Jake, as negative as the experience was, I don't think I ever would have gotten my shit together. I like to think there was some sort of… string of fate tied between us. He was, after all, the father of my child.

There's only one other person whose affected my life so deeply and that's Rachel Berry. When I arrived here I was so positive. I'd been accepted into one of the most prestigious colleges in the nation. I had top-notch grades. My family life was okay and stable now. The future was bright.

And then I got here. I didn't know what I was doing, stuck between three different passions, each of which could become a major. Everybody else I talked to knew exactly what they were going to do with their lives. They had the next ten years planned out and I had nothing but optimism and vague ideas. My roommate and I didn't get along. I had no friends. Adjusting was difficult.

And then, when I rushed for sororities, I met Rachel. At first she was like everyone else. Determined. Competitive. Crazy. She was just as cutthroat as the rest of them. But then, by some miracle, she approached me. She was nice and friendly. She was what changed it all for me. She became my first real friend here, she helped me get through the craze of hazing, and ever since we've been friends and she became my roommate during second semester.

These are the people who my red strings lead to. And for some reason, some unexplainable reason, I feel like Santana might be too. It's just a random gut feeling of which I'd usually ignore, but this one is so strong I think maybe it's real. I wonder what part she'd play in my life.

"Quinn! Quinn!" A pair of fingers snaps in front of my face, drawing me back to the moment at hand. "Did you hear anything I just said?" I turn my face towards Chloe with a guilty smile, prompting her to repeat her story.

"Quinn I need you to pay attention. This is like, a really big problem and you three are the only ones I can confide in!" She pouts dramatically as she continues styling my hair.

"Really Quinn, you need to learn how to stop zoning out," adds Rachel. "It's completely unproductive and calls for unnecessary repetition because you weren't listening the first time."

"Guys! Back to my problems!" I roll my eyes with a playful smile. Chloe was a bit of a drama queen and perhaps a tad too self-invested, but she really was an awesome friend. She's really loyal and she comes through when you really need her. I'm so glad she was assigned to be my mentor when I first joined KKG. "We were texting like all summer long. It was like really flirty like all the time, but it was more than that. We just got closer. Like, she became more than my fuck buddy. She became my best friend."

"Aca-scuse me," Aubrey interrupts, angrily waving around a dangerously hot curling iron.

"My best friend other than you," Chloe corrects. Aubrey smiles, satisfied, as she continues curling her hair for the Frat party we're headed to later tonight.

"So what's the problem?" I ask, still trying to clue in to what's happening.

"I want more than to just be friends and also casually fuck," Chloe says. "Keep up, Quinn!" She lets out another frustrated moan. "But even though we were like being flirty and having semi-regular sex over Skype all summer," I notice Aubrey make a face like she never needed to hear that last bit, "She still treated me like a friend. She even told me about the other people she was dating! She was dating this Luke guy for a while. I don't even know if she's gay or just experimenting!"

"Chloe, you don't even know if you're gay," Aubrey argues.

"That is not true!" she replies passionately. "I'm just…" she falters for a moment, "fluid. I don't like the whole labels thing for myself."

"Well that's unfair," Rachel points out, forever the levelheaded one out of the four of us. "Apparently, Beca doesn't like labels as well and yet you're demanding she get one."

"I said I didn't like them for myself," Chloe responds stubbornly. "For other people, particularly the ones I'm dating, it'd be very helpful."

"Are you afraid she'll go back to guys?" I ask.

"It's not that." She bites her lip, unsure how to get her emotions across. "I'm fluid and just because I like both genders that doesn't mean I'm any less faithful to whoever I'm into. The problem is that I don't know if she's into girls or into orgasms, no matter whose bringing her to them."

All of us sit there in silence, unsure how to respond. We're all thinking the same thing - or more accurately -we're all doubting the same thing. We know the answer Chloe wants us to give. She wants us to say Beca's probably into girls for reasons X, Y, &amp; Z and Chloe should just take the leap and ask. She probably won't be turned down because of reasons A, B, &amp; C. But none of us can.

Finally, the normally overly energetic lets out a dejected sigh and fills the empty space. "That's what I thought."

All too eager to change the subject, I jump in and change the topic to the first thing on my mind. "I met this girl named Santana."

"And?" Rachel prompts.

"Was she like a bitch or something?' Aubrey calls out from her closet across her very small KKG dorm room.

"No," I pause, "Well yes. I don't know. She just helped me carry some boxes to my dorm."

"Is there more to this story?" Aubrey asks, annoyed at the seeming lag in conversation.

Perhaps I shouldn't have brought this up. I honestly didn't really have anything to say… not that I'd say aloud. I'd sound so foolish. "I guess not. She was just one of the few people to help me out today."

"Okay," says Rachel, simply brushing the topic under the carpet. We continue talking; sharing about how all of our summers apart were and whom we suspected would take unofficial charge of KKG.

Still, in the very back of my mind, the name Santana kept pestering me, never quite there but never quite gone. It would sound so stupid to say that I just had this unexplainable desire to get to know her. It wasn't an option. It was a need.

**Blood**

"Welcome to Chi Gamma Epsilon you sexy, sexy ladies. No charge for ya'll cause ya'll be sexy as all fuck," says the guy, opening the door for us. He has a prevalent southern accent and a cup of beer, which I guarantee is at least his fourth, in his hands. "There's beer in the kitchen, the brownies are laced, and rip glow sticks from other people's necks if ya want one!" I roll my eyes. Frat boys.

The second we walk in, all eyes are on us. Aubrey, Rachel, and I get our fair share of stares, but for the most part they're all on Chloe. Chloe, in her four years, had built up quite the reputation. She has a lot of sex and she's unapologetic about it.

She's not one of those girls who has a one-night stand, freaks out the next morning, and never speaks to the person again. In fact, she still says hi to a lot of them in the hallway. Her walks of shames are more like marches of pride.

If anyone ever calls her a slut, other than close personal friends teasing her, she'll go on a rant about how slut shaming is wrong and just because she does as she likes with her body doesn't give them a right to interpret it as a bad thing and shame her for it. It's pretty scary actually.

Due to her reputation a lot of guys – and even some girls – tend to take special interest whenever she walks into a room. A lot of people think it's either a) Their chance for the threesome they always wanted because everyone knows she swings both ways b) a night of hot sex in general or c) a chance for girls to experiment.

Unfortunately for everyone at the party, she barely noticed any of them. Instead, she made a straight shot for 1) the alcohol 2) Beca Mitchell.

"Quinn, Aubrey and I are going to go start recruiting for the Bellas," Rachel screams over the noise.

"Here? Now?" The lengths those two will go for a capella show choir will never fail to astound me. "We haven't even been at college 24 hours, Rach. You need to enjoy yourself. We're here to party."

"Quinn, it's never too early to start recruiting for fresh, new talent. Somebody's going to have to replace us when we leave," Rachel points out.

"We're not leaving for another 3 years," I point out. "You're not going to get any good recruits out of this wasted, drunk mess. Just come and get some drinks with me, find some hot guys, have a good time."

"You never know where you'll find talent," Rachel says with an optimistic twinkle in her eyes. "And, y'know, if we can find somebody who can sing while simultaneously wasted you know we've found a winner!" Just like that, she runs off with Aubrey to find new recruits.

I, on the other hand, grab a beer and go on a search for my KKG or Bella sisters. It doesn't take long for me to catch sight of Piper and Mercedes. Mercedes, a bigger black woman, is one of the lead singers for the Bella's. She's basically a giant ball of sass and a big, diva personality. It can be kind of dramatic being friends with her, but for the most part she's an amazing person. She'll always be there for a friend when it matters and she's in it for the music, not the fame or the money. She's a little shallow at times, but she's a loyal chic.

Piper is a little more serious. I definitely see why she got into Yale. She's brilliant and quite the entrepreneur as well. She dances for the Bella's and she's really damn good too. I've noticed a couple guys pants tent up watching her dance. She's pretty ruthless when it comes to competition and survival. She's generally a pretty nice girl, but she can be really selfish at times. She means well though, even though she did almost trade a girl for a blanket; college parties can get pretty crazy. Luckily, it's all water under the bridge now.  
"Hey girl," says Mercedes, pulling me in for a hug, careful not to spill any beer on either of us.

"Quinn, it's been so long!" Piper hugs me as well, but she on the other hand is quite drunk and spills

"I know it's been forever!" I say excitedly. Almost immediately, the three of us fall back into our old groove. I'd always been really close to the two of them.

Mercedes immediately started talking about how she'd found this underground music producer. It wasn't much, but she found this recording studio (in an admittedly sketchy neighborhood) and had been recording tracks there all summer. She even hooked up with this guy, Sammy, who she'd sang a duet with.

Piper talked about the internship she'd gotten over the summer at a marketing and advertisement place, Bailey's. I never really understood the appeal of advertising, but she was in love with the job. Her and her girlfriend Alex were going strong, although there was a rocky month in between this summer, but things had patched up.

Me? I told them that how I just spent my summer with my mother. I helped her out at home, now that she was alone. I visited my father a couple times. We don't have the best relationship, but we both love each other. I spent some time visiting old high school friends. I didn't mention how high school friends included the guy who knocked me up – purely as friends. Out of my college friends, only Rachel knows that I even got pregnant in high school.

Maybe an hour later, the three of us were talking and dancing and participating in random drinking games along the way (we lost Mercedes for awhile until we found her annihilating everyone else at beer pong). That's when I saw her.

I don't know how long she was there for. I'm surprised I didn't see her enter. She seems like the kind of person to draw immediate attention from everyone when she enters a room. Perhaps it was my slightly fogged mind that accounted for my not noticing her sooner.

She wore a green dress that was so short it was almost sinful and a pleasant but unattached smile on her face as she glided – not walked – through the crowd and straight towards one Noah Puckerman.

How does she know him? He's a sophomore. She's only a freshman. Did they go to high school together? Did she already meet him beforehand? Is she one of those people who go to college planning to already know all the fraternity kids to get into the good parties? The thought is incredibly unappealing to me. It just feels desperate. And, of all the people, would she really befriend a manwhore like Puck?

As soon as he sees her, his pace quickens down the stairs and they meet on the middle, right at the landing. I can see them talking, but I can't hear them. They immediately embrace in a hug and she gives him a kiss on the cheek. Is she just his next one-night-stand? I suddenly feel myself fill with disgust… and jealousy.

The two of them make their way up the stairs and disappear out of sight, so after a minute or two I let them disappear from my mind. I focus back on what Piper was talking about and go around the party enjoying my time. Every once in a while I see Santana milling around the party.

She manages to catch my attention every time she enters the same room as me, but I quickly revert back to whatever I was doing previously. It's only on occasion that I catch her flirting with others, just as everybody at this party is doing.

It's surprising how much can be surmised about a person through their flirting style. She's hitting on both guys and girls, therefore; she's bisexual. Thus, the question occurs: What kind of bisexual? She seems comfortable. This means two things. 1) She's done this before. She was bisexual in high school (at least). 2) She's not the activist type. If she were she'd be making a bigger deal of going between genders.

She seems to have quite a type. Or perhaps, it's better stated as an anti-type. She hasn't hit on a single blonde at the party. Despite all the blonds – mostly male, but a female here or there – she has rejected all of them. Yet, her best friend is blonde and she keeps eyeing her every once in awhile.

Finally, she keeps flirting. I can tell when she's hooked each person, you can see that moment in their eyes where the blackness of lust takes over and their motions become more flirtatious and their mouths read, "You wanna get out of here?" She's been flirting constantly, even after she's gotten them hooked on her, she leaves them for another. She's a hunter whose in it for the competition.

She's in the middle of catching prey after leaving her last snare for an unknown reason and her eyes meet mine for a split second. In my alcohol haze, I shoot her a smile and a wave perhaps ushering about a friendship. Instead, she returns a cold stare and turns her back, eyes already feasted on the new brunette or redhead.

No friendship then.


	4. Chapter 4: The Competition

**It's not entirely important, but you just might want to note the date, location, and names provided. In most of the flashbacks they will be Santana and Quinn, but every once in awhile (for instance this one) they will include Santana and someone else (Puck, Brittany, etc.). So for clarity's sake this might help you figure out what's going on.**

**Also, don't be afraid in the reviews to correct my small grammatical typos, cultural, or historical inaccuracies. I don't exactly go and learn every bit of information, but I do like the piece to feel authentic and I'm going to be drawing on a lot of history I know nothing about.**

**COOL INFORMATION: So in an effort to be authentic, I want to give Quinn and Santana two very different writing styles and so I figure the best way to do that is to get another writer on board. I don't know if it'd be just this chapter or future chapters as well, but for the next chapter I'm enlisting help. Send me a PM or leave a review that tells me you're interested and I'll read your stuff (if you have any) and if anyone sparks my interest I might contact you and you get to write parts of the next chapter with me). Requirements: 1) Must have interest 2) Must be wiling to work with another to write 3) Schedule will be in flux because I have exams coming up 4) Can work with prompts 5) Is awesome**

The Competition

New York, 1840

Colby (Santana) &amp; Gabriel (Noah Puck)

Colby P.O.V

I can hear those ninnies hurling the white and red-stitched ball back and forth in the park. They're not really disturbing anybody, but they are quite loud. There's a group of them, if I counted correctly 6.v.6, playing. I believe the sport is called baseball. It's very, very new, but it caught on quite quickly.

"Out!" I hear one of them call, the ball getting to its destination only a second before the other player ran and landed their foot squarely on what is, presumably, the base. It's really just another man's jacket laid down on the green grass. I pity whoever has to wash that later.

The good-natured man smiles, taking his foot off the base and jogs back towards the "batting section" with his other waiting compatriots. He smiles. "I'll get you next time, Jem."

"Batter up!" The man in the center of the makeshift diamond calls out. A young looking Caucasian man steps up to the plate, a wooden bat in hand. I'm surprised they found one. The sport was only invented a year ago; getting a true baseball bat must've been very difficult.

He has a strange mohawk, very scandalous for the time period. He's practicing his swing as he waits for the pitched to throw the ball. An overconfident smile glows from his square-like face. It's clear this is his natural expression.

The pitcher throws the ball, moving quickly enough for a human to gloat but rather slow if this had been a team of vampires playing. The odd thwack of the wooden bat hitting the ball shocks my ears as the powerful swing sends the ball out of the diamond… and towards me.

The mohawked man runs fast – really fast – rounding the base. It looks like he'll make it all the way to 'home base' before the team even manages to pick the ball up. His team is hooting and hollering for him to run just a little bit faster and how he's 'so close.'

Meanwhile, as the ball heads towards me, I do the logical thing. I reach out and I catch it. The force of the ball does surprise me, but I don't allow it to jolt my position. Had I been human, I'm sure the force of the ball would've hurt my hand much more. I probably shouldn't have done that, trying to stay 'under the radar' as they say. Oh well.

"She caught it!" one of the men in the field all out. "It's out!"

The mohawked man, already home and accepting cheers and praise from his team, looks back. "Nathan, are you serious? She isn't playing! That doesn't count!"

"Actually, even if a fan catches the ball, it does officially count as an out," a nerdy looking man replies from the outfield.

"Be quiet, Ron!" the mohawked man yells, now enraged that his almost perfect hit was now completely ruined.

"Gabe, it's just a game," says another man, clearly one of 'Gabe's' teammates. "And that was still one heck of a hit. Let the other team have it." He lets out another cocky smirk. "The other team will need this leg up anyways, especially with the way we're dominating them."

Gabe returns a playful but still slightly vexed smile, turning back to his teammates. I can feel the anger still radiating off of him in my direction.

"Thanks so much, Miss." A boy, Nathan, approaches me. "Do you think you can hand me back the ball?"

**Blood**

**Author Interjection: You should all read the "Cool Information" in the beginning and end AN. Okay, continue reading…**

What I need right now is a drink. Of all the time periods to get a good drink, I think this might be the best. They knew how to make a good one back in the 1400's; they were strong enough to make the lightweights nowadays pass out after one sip, but they were so hard to get back then and there weren't that many kinds. Now there's so many damn drinks in existence I'm not even sure I've tried them all. But I'll be damned if I don't at least try.  
Saloons are the most curious of places. They will stand on the side of the street, right in plain sight, but people will pretend to pass it by because to enter in the daytime it would be scandalous. The only ones who could enter at a time so uncouth would be the drunks whose reputations are already so besmirched it doesn't matter anymore or the occasional bachelor with his best man on an especially bad day. No, you can only enter if it's past suppertime and the shroud of night can cover your footsteps. That way, people can pretend that the good-mannered folks who pass them on the streets and say "M'lady" or curtsy to a passing gentleman aren't actually spending their evenings hiring women of the night and drinking away their sorrows.

The moment I enter, I can feel a change within the mood. A need for secrecy takes over me. A lady never talks about what happens to her in a saloon. I can feel every man's eyes on me. When I first started coming here they would stare at the oddness of having a woman of my status enter. Now, I'm a regular patron.

"Good evening, Ms. Casto," the bartender greets, a hint of southern accent in his low voice. He finishes drying a mug and places it carefully onto the shelf. "What would you like tonight?"

"3 whiskeys, please."

"Yes ma'am." I know it seems a bit absurd to order so many, but drinking 3 whiskeys for me is like drinking half of one. My metabolism barely processes alcohol. It'd take an entire bar for me to get truly and utterly snockered. I've earned quite the reputation of being able to hold my own.

As I'm waiting for my drink, that's when I hear him. It's that idiot from the park. Gabriel. His smooth, mezzo voice is barely above a whisper. He's tried (and failed) to lower it to more of a bass or baritone, thinking it'll make him sound sexier.

He's flirting with a woman, trapping her between the bar and his body. She's seems to be pretty into it though, so I suppose trapped isn't the precise word.

I'm a little bored and a little too not drunk so I decide to mess with him. He's a fun toy to play with. I wait for my drinks before consecutively downing all three of them in under a minute.

As I walk over to him, deciding upon my plan of attack, I sift through his thoughts. Typically I try not to, especially for inferior meatheads like him (I might catch a case of imbecile), but I figure there's no harm in a little bit of fun.

That's when I find out something a little surprising about him. He's an exlecebra, sometimes also called incubi. They're basically male demons that sleep with women. Just like I feed on blood, they feed on sex. He's clearly turning on the charm right now trying to get her into bed.

Setting my sights on my prey, I approach the two of them.

I vaguely remember her name from previous encounters at dull luncheons. She's much lower on the social totem than I, but we still have our fair share of meetings. "Hello, Ellie." I smoothly interject myself into the conversation, lightly touching her arm with my fingertips. I notice the Goosebumps spring up on her arm. Interesting.

"H-Hello Colby," she says.

"Now, what is a beautiful woman like you doing at such a rancid establishment as this?" I husk the word beautiful into her ear. If I play this right I might get a meal and sex from her.

"She was talking to me," says the mow-hawked boy, taking a domineering step forward to claim his territory.

"Oh yes. I recognize you," I say flippantly, as if he were inconsequential. "You're the boy from the park?" I make a vague notion of caring.

"Gabriel Ximen," he says curtly. He barely maintains the standards of courtesy in this day and age.

"Colby Casto," I reply with a mocking curtsy. I turn my attention back on Ellie. "Do you mind if I sit with you two?"

Simultaneously, two voices reply. "Yes," responds a frustrated male voice. "Not at all," says Ellie.

"Thanks," I say faking gratuity. I slam the bar with my hand, calling the attention of the bartender. I motion for another round for the three of us and he nods, off to prepare our drinks. "So, what were we talking about?"

"Mr. Ximen was just telling me about his work in the factories. He came over from England. What a fascinating time to be alive," she says, sounding almost mesmerized by the foreign fantasies he offers.

"You can just call me Gabriel," he says with a wink. She blushes, letting out a soft giggle of flirtation. "As I was saying—"

"Excuse me Gabriel," I interrupt. He sends me a nasty glare. We both know that his invitation to use his first name had not extended to me. "As interesting as that is, I'd much rather hear about Ellie." I make a motion for her to speak.

Gabriel sends me another harsh glare, one of the many to come in the night. I can tell I've thrown a wrench into his plans. Men flirt with confidence. They do their best to show off. Once you've taken that ability away they don't know what to do next.

She looks surprised that somebody's honestly taken an interest in her. I can tell she's used to being flirted with, she is rather beautiful after all, but the men are more interested in talking about themselves than they are of her. They seem to think being egotistical assholes is a form of flirtation. "I um…" she seems flustered. "I'm not all that interesting."

"I'm sure that's not true. I find you very interesting." I husk.

For the next hour it's a fight between Gabriel and I to grab her attention and charm her away. She tells us of her work in another woman's house and how she takes care of a baby boy named Ian. She briefly mentions her childhood and a regrettable moment or two from them (the alcohol making her so candid). Each time it would go back and forth between Gabriel and I.

In the end though, I was the one to accompany her home. Well, almost. We were on her street when she suddenly changed her mind and decided to take things back to my house. Let's just say my stomach was full, we were both incredibly sated – in two different ways –, and she wouldn't remember a thing tomorrow.

**Life**

**AN: I'd like to note right now, so you all know, Santana's original name when she was first born is Cordelia de Paolo.**

I've learned so many different fighting styles over the years. It wasn't easy as a woman to learn how to fight. Men think that fighting is only a man's thing; the femininity of being a woman has no business crossing gender lines. Despite all the odds and prejudices, I did nonetheless learn to fight.

It had been 1414, I trained to be a bushi, or as said around the rest of the world, samurai. There was something so beautiful about the fighting form. It was aggressive in nature, as fighting should be. The sound of metal clashing with metal or the ring of an arrow, zipping across a vast expanse but still audible from 30 yards away as it pierces its target; it was enticing and blood pumping.

But there was more to it. There was a restraint and a discipline to the fighting style. I had to be taught the basics of Zen Buddhism, meditation and self-discovery, before fighting was even spoken of. It wasn't a fight. It was an art. It was a dance between two worthy opponents.

In 1615, while enslaved, I learned a much more brash and abrasive form of fighting. Others, slaves, entrapped in the white man's world taught me how to fight and survive under the racist tyranny. There was no skill to the way they moved. There was no grace or elegance like in Kyu-jutsu or Bo-jutsu. It was raw, determined passion. These men and women were fighting for their lives. It was punch after punch after punch until their opponent was down. It was a kick to the genitals or an elbow to the jugular. It was a stomp to the foot or a hard, crunching, bone-breaking fist against their face. It was whatever kept them alive.

And, throughout all my lifetimes, I figured out how to fight Maleficiī. I learned how to sink my fangs into somebody's neck and suck them dry or use mind control. I, either having been taught or learning from experience, found the weak points of every other Maleficiī out there. I haven't stayed alive all this time out of pure luck.

That's why this entire situation was so genuinely comedic. With my centuries of experience, my lifetimes dedicated to learning all these styles of fighting, this young, idiotic incubus thought he could defeat me.

He sends his right hand swinging towards me, hand clenched into a fist. I can tell it's only a distraction, a set up for another move. I easily duck the blow, leaving me unfortunately open for an attack from his left hand. He throws his entire weight into the punch. Using a small amount of supernatural speed, just enough to avoid the blow but not enough for him to notice, I avoid his attack

Out of the way from both his hands and his balance thrown off after my avoidance, he leaves himself defenseless. I get in a good hit to his face, sending him stumbling backwards. In his moment of weakness, I kick the inside of his leg with my left foot, sending his center of balance even more out of control.

He backs away from me, recovering his bearings. He looks mad, pissed off even. I'm hardly worried. If anything, his fighting style resembles that of the slaves I lived with for years. It's untrained and out of control. Out of control passion can be good, it can be what wins a fight, but not this one.

After a couple of seconds, he approaches again, both fists covering his face in an effort to protect it. I can't tell if he does this having been taught this technique or having just been in so many fights where his face got beat in that he learned over time. Either way, his form is excellent.

"_C'mon man, you can take her,"_ I hear him think,_ "She's humiliated you. Just feign a double punch and go in for a good combo hook."_ And he does just that. Knowing his plans, I easily anticipate all of his moves and avoid them. I don't even take the prime opportunity to hit him back, showing off the flaws in his moves. No, that'd be too simple. I want to embarrass him. I want to show him he can't even get a hit in.

He backs away, the two of us anxiously shifting our weight back and forth waiting for the other person's move. _"Quick jab, Gabe. It's not a winner, but right now you just need a hit on her. Throw her off her game. She isn't untouchable."_

I smirk. Oh how wrong he is. He takes a menacing step forward as his right arm moves backwards, like a coil just waiting spring and release its energy into this one punch headed directly for my face. I easily take a step backwards, the length of his arm not long enough to hit me as his punch follows through.

I wonder how ridiculous we must look. Here he is, punching at the air getting his ass handed to him by a girl. And here I am, in a dress and corset with very nice heels and my hair done up, fighting in some street ally with a moderately wealthy man-thug.

He goes in for a quick-paced left/right jab. I easily duck the hits and sweep one of my legs in a circle, knocking his own legs right out from under him. I feel tempted to laugh, but that would simple be cruel.

Now on his back, he jumps up as quickly as possible to avoid the submissive position. I can see the rage, the fire burning in his eyes. The thoughts in his head are screaming to crush me, to destroy me. In that moment, he's like a bull.

He comes rushing towards me, his entire body determined to take me down. His arms are positioned to wrap around my waist and his head to butt into my stomach. I hadn't been ready.

The impact wasn't what I expected. He was stronger than your average incubus. He had the normal strength of a incubus who didn't work out combined with the sort of physicality a man in war would have. It knocked the air out of me.

I could hear the victorious shouts in his head as he released me, sending me stumbling foolishly over my own two feet. _"Yes Gabe! You got in a blow! You've caught her off her game!"_

Playtime is over kid. Using my supernatural speed I run at him, delivering blow after blow to his face and an occasional kick to his legs until he's up against the ally wall, trapped between a hard place and me. His face is bloodied, he's exhausted, but more than anything he's shocked and anxious.

His eyes are wider than saucers, thrown up against this wall, my body the only thing keeping him up. "There are others like me out there?" He sounds excited, like a kid who just won the lottery. "What are you?"

I allow my fangs to come out. It's not that difficult considering hiding them is actually a lot of work. I let them speak for themselves.

"You're a… vampire?" he's in disbelief.

"Are you seriously telling me you've never met another Maleficiī before?" I ask, almost equally as shocked. It's not like kids with Maleficiī parents don't get abandoned sometimes, but it's rare. And at his age, I'm shocked he hasn't met another yet.

"A what?" he asks, confused.

"Gabriel, do you even know who I am?"

"No." He scoffs at me resentfully, believing I shouldn't be someone of importance. "Should I?" It amuses me how he continues to act like a 'tough guy' when being pinned against a wall after being brutally defeated in a fight.

"I'm Cordelia de Paolo." Usually once I drop my name, my real name, people know exactly who I am. I'm one of those bedtime fairytales, whether for good or evil, that most Maleficiī tell their kids before they go to sleep every night. I'm as common as a fork in most Maleficiī's houses.

He shakes his head no. "Sorry, doesn't mean anything to me." I back away from him, freeing him from against the wall and letting him stand on his own two feet. More accurately, I'd call it swaying or perhaps wobbling as he's still regaining his bearings.

"Do you even know what you are?"

He looks up at me with, for the first time, an odd vulnerability and uncertainty in his eyes. "A vampire? Like you?"

I let out a sigh. God, this kid doesn't even know what he is. I'm surprised. Before, with the women in the bar, he was using his incubus-given-charm to attract the woman at first. It's interesting that he can unknowingly do that. "You're not a vampire. Come with me let's get you cleaned up you idiot," I usher.

He looks at me skeptically, and a little scared, but follows nonetheless.

After that, it's all just history.

**Initially, I wasn't planning on this chapter. It was going to be a different flashback, but I decided it'd be interesting to look into the Puck/Santana relationship. I do leave the fight intentionally at an unknown time so they could've had 20 "competition's" in between or this could've happened right after the bar. For now, I'm leaving it up to your imagination. Let me know what you imagine it to have been about!**

**Also, please feel pity for me. My computer broke. I had to use my mothers. There was a very, very gay Internet history awaiting her. And then they decided to talk about it.**

**COOL INFORMATION (in case you weren't paying attention above): So in an effort to be authentic, I want to give Quinn and Santana too very different writing styles and so I figure the best way to do that is to get another writer on board. I don't know if it'd be just this chapter or future chapters as well, but for the next chapter I'm enlisting help. Send me a PM or leave a review that tells me you're interested and I'll read your stuff (if you have any) and if anyone sparks my interest I might contact you and you get to write parts of the next chapter with me). Requirements: 1) Must have interest 2) Must be wiling to work with another to write 3) Schedule will be in flux because I have exams coming up 4) Can work with prompts 5) Is awesome**


	5. Chapter 5: The Class

**Props to Ame Ryuokami who actually wrote this entire chapter! They were absolutely awesome and excellent and so willing to work with some of my old ideas and combine their own, brilliant ones to bring life back to this story! They even looked at my outline and really helped me define my characters and I am so thankful for that. If you enjoy the way this chapter is written, please, go check them out!**

**Recap: Honestly, not too much happened. Some of Quinn's background is revealed, how she got pregnant and lost the baby and that Rachel was her first friend in college. Chloe, who wants to be in a relationship with Beca, and Aubrey are also her friends. She goes to a party and notices Santana throughout the night.**

The Class

Quinn's POV

I wake up in bed with a headache, a churning sensation inside of my stomach, and my alarm blaring next to me at 6 in the morning. I smash the little bugger to the off setting before slowly getting myself in a standing position and make my way towards my closet for a change of clothes.

God, my head is killing me. I smell like one of those cheap pubs down the street. How many cups _exactly_ did I drank last night? I wasn't really sure since all I can remember is Santana flirting with a lot of people.

I mean what the hell happened? One moment she's this one sweet, hot girl who I met in the elevator, who even helped me carry my stuff back in my room when no one else would! I really thought she was nice too, but sadly that wasn't the case. She just ignored me all night, and it was intentional, I could tell. The cold shoulder was enough to tell me to she's clearly a bitch.

Why do I keep having this nagging feeling that somehow we are fated to meet though? Was I just drunk at that time? I need to get this shower over soon so I can buy myself coffee and get to class.

As I walk in the communal girl's bathroom I heard the most exotic voice that freeze me on my tracks.

_I'm an angel with a shotgun,_

_Fighting til' the war's won,_

_I don't care if heaven won't take me back._

It is so raspy and full of emotions that I can't help but inch slowly towards the shower. Who is this person laden with an angel's voice?

_I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe._

_Don't you know you're everything I have?_

_I'm an angel with a shotgun_

Oh, I'm sure you are. I find myself frozen, paralyzed by her voice, for a reason that feels beyond my control. I don't even know who this person is or what they look like. If she sees me she'll probably think I'm some pervert listening to her in the shower. I mean, why am I even doing this? I should leave.

For some reason I just can't find it in me to move my damn feet.

_And I want to live, not just survive_

_Live, not just survive_

_And I'm gonna hide, hide, hide my wings tonight._

Before I knew it a sniffing sound can be heard from the other side. Oh god, was the girl actually crying? I was about to barge in the stall, fuck propriety, when a mind numbing pain seared through my skull, painful enough for the strength in my knees to fail. It felt unnatural… forced, like someone else was doing it to me.

As I crumble down the tile floor with my vision blurring, I see tan skin with raven locks coming my way. Huh, she is an angel after all. Then darkness engulfs me.

***Blood***

"Quinn!"

"Quinn!"

I hear voices yelling my name over and over again.

"Quinn for fuck's sake wake up! You're scaring the shit out of all of us!" Chloe says before slapping the hell out of my face.

I jolt up of my sitting position, almost crashing my head into Chloe's forehead, but thankfully she steps back just in time. I notice that I'm still in my sleep wear, smelling like alcohol and that sitting on the cold tile floor of our communal bathroom shower room. So that means I wasn't dreaming when I overheard that girl singing before I pass out? I definitely am not drinking any alcoholic beverages any time soon, now I'll never know who was singing or why they were crying.

"Quinn what are you doing passed out here?" Rachel's voice was the second thing I register. I look at my surroundings and notice that Mercedes and Aubrey are also beside them, looking at me with concern in their eyes.

"I'm fine guys. Chill." I try to move to a standing position, grateful that somehow my hangover has elevated at least. Usually, it would at least three cups of coffee, two capsules of Advil and an hour of rest to at least get the blurry vision out. I know it's a good recipe for sugar rush slash heart attack but that's how my body works. Now I know that crumpling to the ground and blacking out also works… probably not advised.

"Oh heeeelllllll no! You're not fine, girl. We've been shaking the hell out of you for ages. God knows how long were you lying there!" Mercedes says as she wave her hands for emphasis. My eyes widen in shock at that piece of information.

"Shit what time is it?" I hurriedly pick up my things that was neatly near where I sat before. Hmm, must've been Rachel who'd done it. Everything always has to be perfectly organized with her.

I ran in one of the empty shower stalls and begin one of my fastest showers yet, despite the smell of alcohol still cover my body. Did someone spill some on me yesterday? Ew, so that's why.

"8:10. Why? Do you have first period?" Chloe asks as she too starts to wash up too, albeit a lot slower than I currently am.

"Yes!" I say, finally finished. I run out of the stall as I dry my body as best as I can before dressing up with the change of clothes that I brought. Usually, I'm a bit more self-conscious about my body, I hate running out of the stalls covered only in a towel, but I'm so anxious about being late that the normal care I take doesn't register. I don't even notice what clothes I'm putting on. I don't bother with my hair either since I don't have the time.

"You're seriously wearing that on the first day, Quinn?" Rachel asks.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I arch my brow up and put my hands on my waist, expecting the end of my shirt. Instead I'm met with the heat of my skin. I look down at myself and realize that I picked my skank outfit, the one that I wore way back in high school. Ripped faded low waist skinny jeans hugged my hips as a black tank top half ripped in half clung to my body. Hell, my belly button ring is showing! I haven't worn this since high school. The only reason I still have own any of my old clothes is as a reminder of who I was and who I won't be again.

"Rawr Quinn, if I wasn't aiming for Beca, I would've jumped you right here right now." Chloe said haughtily to me as she sauntered out of the shower with only a small towel covering her body.

She's about to leave for the exit and didn't even have a change of clothes brought along with her to change! That's how alluring she is and she knows it! Right as she's about to leave she stops right in front of me and pulls a leather bracelet out of nowhere, wrapping it around my right arm.

"Now, the look is complete, all you need to do is snag a man and be on your way." She smirked before completely going out of the bathroom. What the hell? I do not just snag someone up. I don't even use that term.

I contemplate changing my outfit to a better one when Aubrey snaps me out of myself and taps her watch on her wrist, "I believe you were late?"

I run like hell after that. I only stop for a moment to grab my pencil case in my room and bound out again with what I hope is an acceptable pair of boots. Clothes be damned, wearing the old me doesn't mean I'm the old me. That part of my life is over. I'm never going back.

***Life***

Growing up, I admit my father wasn't always the best role model to look up to. He was going to be the best businessman and sadly enough, he wasn't always there like most fathers are for their daughters. No, he would always choose a bottle of scotch and his work over his own daughter. It wasn't completely terrible. He wasn't abusive or a bad man. He always made promises to come to my games or competitions, I could see he was sincere, but each time a new thing from work would come up. I finally learned that they were nothing more than empty promises.

When my mother finally had the nerve to give him the divorce papers and tell him to sign it was as if he'd already expected her to do just that ages ago. With a swish of his pen, the documents were signed. Sealed. Irreversible.

With that, I was stuck between them. Shared custody was a bitch. I was the child that spends their Thanksgiving with my father and Christmas with my mother. I was the child who stops celebrating my birthday with my parents since clearly they too uncomfortable to be with each other for one day, even for their child. I was the child learned to fend for herself because I know life is a cruel.

I learned how to manipulate people into my whims. Maybe that's why I'm interested in law. They often say that the law is blind and you can interpret it however you like. It's all just about manipulating the words to fit your purpose.

But the one thing I hate about law is that the very words that you spoke can constrict you even though you, yourself, uttered them. As I recall, the law may be blind but I don't recall her being deaf nor mute.

I value my freedom of speech and expression. When I was a child I was already writing corny poetry in my diaries. My mom enrolled me in a specialized school that teaches kids singing and dancing. I know that one of the reasons she did it was to keep me occupied and out of her hair - she was a famous photographer so she didn't always have time for me - but at she least cared enough to know what my interests are and help me develop them.

She's the reason I'm here today.

I arrive in my Journalism class looking like a panting dog ready to collapse. To my utter horror and surprise, the only seat available was at the back most corner of the room beside Santana and a blonde sophomore who she was currently flirting with. I thought she hates blondes? Why the sudden change in taste? Maybe I analyzed the situation wrong? No… I never get it wrong.

I huff. It's not as if it's my business… but then why am i so affected? Weird.

I walk towards the back, ignoring the indecent stares and the wolf whistles coming from my classmates. I smirk and, knowing fully well how hot I am, put on an extra sway to my hips for emphasis. I'm never going back to who I was, but just for now, I can play along.

Santana stops talking to her blonde friend and looks my way. I can't help my smirk from growing when her gaze looks all over my body. Her eyes lingers a bit on my stomach. I can tell she's shocked I have a belly button ring. Thank god for yoga and a bit of tae-bo. If it weren't for them my stomach would be protruding from the amount of beer I drank yesterday.

Her eyes finally reach mine. I am literally blown away from how gorgeous her eyes are. They are almost auburn with slight glints of red at the edges. For a moment, I think they must be coming from the sun. This is my second time suddenly freezing this day, what is wrong with me?

I clear my throat before speaking to her, "Do you mind if I seat next to you?"

"Do I have a choice?" she says while crossing her arms in front of her. Rude much?

I'm about to reprimand her when a blonde tall woman dress in a loose black one piece dress with the neckline artistically cut into a plunging v-cut just right above where cleavage is seen enters. She is also wearing net stockings and a pair of 3 inch black stilettos, making her even taller to the average viewer.

"While I appreciate you eye fucking the fresh meat like a dog in heat, Squirt, I would prefer if you did that somewhere else, preferably out of my sight," she said as she leans slightly on her desk. Great. I've done everything to avoid being on Cassandra July's radar this year, unlike last semester, and still she focuses in on me the first chance she gets.

I slightly glare at her, not daring to talk back, fearing her venomous insults. I take my seat beside the brunette beside me. No one beats her at her own game. I worked my butt off every day for a semester. I barely made the C- to pass.

"Looks like I know most of you here from either my English Lit class or my Drama Class 101. Maybe I'll finally learn your names… probably not," she says. She slowly made her way towards me. I almost thought I was in trouble again when I notice that she isn't looking at me. Rather, she was looking at the person sitting beside me. She stops right in front of our desk before saying, "I just don't know you. What's your name fresh meat?"

I look at Santana, fearing for the poor girl. Yeah sure, she was rude to me earlier but there's no way can say she can her rude, bitchy attitude can top Crazy July's. I wasn't expecting, however, a smirk on the brunette's face who was actually looking straight into our crazy instructor's eyes.

"Fresh meat seems more adept for you," Santana said. My jaw drops in shock.

"Oh? Why is that?" Cassandra said with a smirk of her own. I know that smile. It was the smirk she often uses before humiliating someone. She uses it around Rachel so often that even I've picked it up.

"Succulent, wet, something you can really… sink your teeth into." Is Santana really flirting with Crazy July? In front of everyone? If her smoldering eyes and predatory smirk are indication then she seems to be.

I can see Crazy July smirk back, this time not tearing her down. She's impressed. "In this class we have to back up everything we say." She glances back pointedly at Santana. "Let's see if all you losers can. I want you all writing for a short story. Theme? Anything under the sun. But just know I'll be grading this on the spot so you bet your asses this is going to be gruesome. You all better pray to God." Cassandra instructed us before going back to her desk.

I sigh, not realizing that I was holding my breath at all, before looking at the brunette beside me who already has a pen and paper in front of her. Teacher's pet much?

"You know, instead of gawking at me like an idiot, you can start with this shit," Santana says to me. I scoff at her. I mean, it's not like I've done something wrong to her right? I didn't even say remotely offensive yesterday when we first met in the elevator.

"Alright, what's your problem? You've been rude to me this whole entire time and I don't even know what I did wrong to make you say such things to me," I say to her as I bring out my things. She shrugs nonchalantly with a bored look on her face.

"Nothing. I guess I didn't feel much like reforming my inner bitch today." Was she honestly serious? I look into her eyes to see if she was messing with me, but to my utter amazement all I can see is pure vulnerable honesty. I was left speechless and with no comeback. She ignores me and focuses on what she's doing.

Damn. In all my years dealing with bitches like her, this is the only time I've been left speechless. With that thought, I can feel anger towards myself bubble. However, knowing full well that Cassie will punish me if I create any fuss I decide to just write the stupid short story instead.

_Darkness is my everlasting lifelong friend, yet how I long for wings of freedom to set me free._

I first write. At first I notice the slight pause of Santana's pen, but I ignore her once again, focusing all my thoughts in this paper.

_I was blind by birth and know fully well that no color will ever touch me. I was shackled with fancy iron walls set up by my own father, a rich man who wasn't ashamed to show off his wealth but was ashamed to call a blind girl one of his daughters. I was sheltered, but never loved. I was well educated, but never given the right wisdom to live a proper life. I was living in a box surrounded by darkness... Until a bird came along._

"What are you doing?" Santana interrupts me suddenly. I look at her with an arched eyebrow before answering her, "What's it look like I'm doing. I'm writing."

"About a blind girl meeting a bird? Santana asks. " Change it." I sigh once again. I took a peek into what she's writing and noticed the word vampire there.

"Yes! What's it to you anyways? And why should I change it? At least I'm not like you because I never pegged you as one of those vampire fanatics." I taunt, which immediately shut Santana up. I smile at that feat before continuing to write my story.

_I first met the bird when it suddenly fell gracefully through my window. I was scared at first and almost called the guards but the bird suddenly started singing to me, earning my curiosity. I slowly came towards it, only to be pulled suddenly by its humongous wings and forced to be twirled around whilst the bird is still singing. Was this dancing? I didn't realize that I was also laughing until the bird stops me from twirling. It was different, it was fun, it was freedom._

"How can a bird twirl you with its wings? That's remotely impossible." Santana once again interrupts.

"Not as impossible as vampires existing." I counter.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Santana says with a bored expression on her face.

"I'm sure I would be," I sarcastically say and once again get back at what I'm doing.

_The bird and I became close friends after that. It would often come by just to tell me all about its recent adventures or in most days we would just rest on my bed with the bird humming a tune until I fell asleep, knowing that by the time I woke up it would still be there. It was like paradise and I thought that with this I found my freedom at last. And yes, a bird it might be. I have found love within this creature, love that I hope shall forever last_

"You are one sick girl you know that? Hooking up with a bird," Santana says. I almost snap my pen into two_. _If she doesn't stop commenting about what I'm writing, I'm seriously going to slap her. Forget about Cassie failing me because this bitch is starting to piss me off.

"Shut up, before I slap you. I don't fucking care if I get failing grade for it. You're honestly pissing me off." I voice finally.

"Good. Then stay out of my business," she simply said. Oh my god! She's like a kid on a tantrum! No, she's worse than a kid. She's like a fucking man-child that had their candy stolen and is now on their tantrum! I can't handle that! Like at all. So once I again, I revert back to ignoring her and finishing my story so I can get the hell out of here.

_I was happy that our love is mutual. But our forever isn't the forever we'd thought it was. My father knew of our love and planned to break it off by marrying me to a man who I didn't even know. I was outraged and heartbroken. Is my freedom deemed too little to my father?_

_When the bird heard of my troubles, it immediately offered me a chance of freedom. A chance to walk away from the shackles that binds me. I immediately took it. We ran. Even being pursued by my father's men, we ran. And even when we were running, I was happy just to know you were beside me. Knowing, you'll never leave me, protecting me come what may. Knowing, you see me as an equal even through all of my flaws. Knowing, that even if this sad fate of cat and mouse with my father never ends you'll still be there._

_When we are cornered once again you're still there with your back facing towards me and a gun pointed at you. It saddens me that fate is cruel to the one who brought color to my life but I cannot just stand there and let you protect me no more. I am free. You taught me how to be free. And free I shall be. Free to save you._

"There done!" I say and I look at to see Santana only to be greeted with a solemn look on her face.

"Yeah great," she says. We both stood up and walk towards Cassie who was criticizing one of our classmates work in front. I was still looking at Santana, figuring out what was her deal, but then her facial expression change into a flirty one once again.

"Here you go, teach," Santana said as she handed her paper Cassandra. She takes it and browses over it.

"A bit disturbing and dark but I like the way you use actual timelines. Not bad, freshmeat. You've got a pass." Cassie said as she put down Santana's paper on the small stack of paper consisting of people of who pass and by the look of things there is were only about 4 of them including Santana who manage to do that.

I hand my paper in next and try not to fidget too obviously.

"Do it over, squirt," Cassandra says giving the paper to me once again.

"What? Why?" I ask, not able to hold back since I tried my absolute best to write that paper.

"Well for one thing. That work of fiction may as well be popular by three teenage people only and would only be slightly credible crap. Do it over again squirt or fail my subject. It's your choice really," she said. To say that I was baffled was an understatement. I walk back to my desk where Santana was already fixing her things to go.

"Told you the blind girl and bird was a bad idea," she told me. I groan at her, having no energy whatsoever to have another argument with the brunette. I place my head down on the desk in the meantime, "At least change it to something more realistic."

"You mean impersonating the bird? Like I don't know making it like a thief?" I said not entirely oblivious to the way Santana's body flinch.

"Do as you like." She said with that cold tone of hers back before going out the room. 

***Love***

**Once again, this was written entirely by Ame Ryuokami with some minor editing. Please, show her some love!**

**Oh, and the song used was "Angel With a Shotgun" by The Cab.**

**I plan on updating more frequently now that I'm out for summer. No promises, but that's the plan.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Treasure

**Anything in bold is when Santana is controlling and planting her thoughts into others.**

**Also, imagine that everything spoken is in Farsi, not English.**

Treasure

Iran, 1491

Michka (Santana) &amp; Samira (Quinn)

Michka P.O.V

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't call in one of my men right now to slay you where you stand," Seraj says. I can't help but smirk. I could kill him before he even knew what was happening. Sadly, I do need his help.

"I can do better than that. I can give you five good reasons," I respond confidently.

"We'll see."

"Firstly, I did get past every single one of your men and into your tent," I reply. "That makes me the perfect thief. Secondly, I'm trained as a samurai. I doubt anybody else is trained as a samurai, which offers an entirely new fighting style that I doubt many are acquainted with around here." His eyebrow rises, amused and interested. There are quite a few amusing things about that statement. It's not often someone with samurai training is this young or in this area: Iran is quite a distance from Japan. Even more odd, I'm sure, is that I'm a woman trained as a samurai. Women can't be samurai. Not officially.

"How did a girl become a samurai? Surely these things don't happen in Japan. Women are to be protected," he insists. I hold back a scoff and a roll of my eyes. I'm not some helpless, fragile娃娃.

"I masqueraded as a man."

"Traitorous liar! How could I trust someone like you?"

"You're a thief," I deadpan.

"And as such I need to know I can rely on all of my men."

"I came to you as a woman, did I not? This is my truth." He concedes and I continue. "Third, I've worked as a royal guard for other kingdoms, which means I'm well acquainted with the way security works." He stirs ever so slightly, obviously raising his interest. "Fourth, you could use another man more than I could use you."

"You are not a man," he replies crossly. I knew I should've just continued on as a man. "And you came to me, not the other way around. I have been credited for stealing thousands. I do not need you." He is petulant and proud. Typical. I notice that he consistently uses I, taking credit for all that his comrades and him have done in one fell swoop.

"Fifth," I continue, slightly aggravated, "I could kill you where you stand before you could even call your guards."

I can immediately read his thoughts, not that I'd have to in order to figure out what he'd do next. Before he can even call out guards I use my super speed, just slow enough for the human eye, and cross the tent. I quickly draw my sword and stick the point against his jugular. With a quick, simple stab I could kill him right now.

He lets out a relaxed laugh. "You are rather good, for a girl. What devil did I pray to for you to be sent into my midst?"

I release my sword from his neck, sensing that he won't call his guards. "No devil, just a girl down on her luck who needs some money and a place to stay."

"I don't let girls into my midst."

"A thief is a thief."

"I don't let girls into my midst. Admittedly, you are rather skilled. Perhaps you would like to stay as a caretaker? My men could use someone to cook and pack up the tents?" Just the thought disgusts me. I am a highly trained samurai warrior. I've been around longer than he has. "My men do get rather lonely, perhaps you could offer us… something else in return for food, shelter, and protection." His gaze wanders my body hungrily.

_Imagine her naked body from beneath those robes. I would ravish that body until the daylight strikes my camp. I would make her scream and moan for me as she begs for me to move inside of her._

I crinkle my nose at his foul thoughts. "No."

My voice penetrates his daydream, shattering it in moments. "You dare say no to me?" His voice rises in anger as he reaches for his sword.

"I don't want to be a disposable wife for your men. I want to be one of your men."

"Impossible," he responds. "Now, get out of my camp!"

I've walked the streets of Mosul, looking for Seraj. Through my travels of India and China Seraj's name was legendary. He was the man who stole thousands from the rich. He was the best thief in all of Asia. I didn't travel all this way, ask every passerby if they knew his location, go through one thousand and one booby traps, to come here and be rejected.

Concentrating, I begin to invade his thoughts, planting a seed of my own inside his head. **My gender doesn't matter. You want to give me a chance to prove myself. If I make it, you let me join.**

He looks back up at me, eyes as though in a daze, as he repeats my words back to me, "I've decided that your gender doesn't matter. I'm going to generously give you a chance to prove yourself. If you make it, you may join my ranks."

I smirk. "How generous," I say sardonically.

Giving me a dirty glare, he continues: "There's a fortress protected by some of the fiercest guards in the city. Beyond it, people say, lies a treasure even better than gold. If you can steal the treasure, alone, and return the riches will be divided among us all and you will be may join Seraj and his victorious vanguards."

"Where is this fortress?"

***Blood***

There are 10 guards surrounding this building. A single guard has gone in once in the last hour (give or take). There's somebody else inside, of that much I'm sure. I couldn't read his mind well he was inside, once anyone is out of my sight I can't read his or her minds anymore, but when he came out he was complaining about somebody inside. I assume I should be prepared for at least 2 guards inside. If there's one guard, he always has a companion.

There's about 6 guards posted outside the building, which is actually pretty slim if there really is a rather large amount of money in there. Therefore, I'm forced to assume they're probably some of the best guards that money can buy.

I've walked around the circular, temple-like building. There's only one entrance/exit. Two guards are posted on each side of that door. The walls of the compound are heavily fortified, not even my enhanced strength could break through that much concrete. There are a couple windows, but they're not large enough for me to crawl through. I could either throw a bomb through the window – which wouldn't work because it might destroy whatever's inside – or I could grab a rope from town, scale the building, and see what's inside. Neither option is helpful.

There's only one way in.

I focus in on one of the soldiers closest to the door. Immediately, his eyes meet mine. They're blank, empty, completely under my control.

**The other men in uniform are imposters. Bandits trying to gain control of what's inside have stolen similar uniforms and stand next to you now, waiting to attack. You must kill them all.**

The soldier blinks, dazed and confused. Immediately a wave of fear, shrouded by stronger anger, overcomes the soldier. He glares threateningly at his comrades, murder in his eyes, unaware that I have just influenced his thoughts. For a moment, as I stare into his unknowing green eyes, I feel a twang of guilt. When he wakes up from all of this he's going to have killed people.

I look away from the guardsman. I can't care about this random nobody right now. My life depends on this. I have no money. I'm wanted in too many countries. I need to make a new life. I need the skills that Seraj and his men have to offer and the money I'll bring in by working with them.

I watch silently from my bush as the impressionable man lifts the gun in his hands and begins firing against his comrades. He takes out the one standing nearest to him, close by the entrance. He wants to take out his most immediate threat. The bullet rips straight through his forehead.

The smell of blood breaks through the entire area.

The other soldiers recognize the sound of a gunshot immediately and react, astounded to find it's their fellow guardsmen. One of them shouts. "Nivrad, what are you doing?"

Nivrad doesn't respond, simply shoots his next target. His eyes are still blank canvases. The man narrowly avoids the bullet. The two spring into action while the other two, previously standing guard on the other side of the building, make haste to help their fellow guardsmen.

The guard who hadn't been shot at immediately attacks Nivrad, shooting off countless rounds targeted precisely. Nivrad is just as skilled as his other combatants, but against the other 4, he's simply no match.

I wait until the other two arrive. With their focus on Nivrad and the gun he's pointing lawlessly at them, I jump out from behind the bushes and easily slice through one of their necks with my sharpened blade of my sword. I've gotten used to the sound of flesh being cut by my metal.

Even more blood is gushing now that two of them have been taken down. It entices me. I want to stop and stick my fangs into his dead, pulseless neck and suck on the delicious red blood that had been running perfectly through his veins only moments before.

My instincts, although foremost focused on the blood, alert me of the precarious situation still facing me. There are still three men left.

I run towards the nearest guy. It was the man who had avoided Nivrad's second shot. Immediately, I engage in combat with him. My sword sweeps in a wide arc, nearly piercing his armor. He jumps back with his life to spare and a sword not drawn from its previous holster in his right hand. He throws his gun down by his side, recognizing that it's no good in close combat.

I wait for him to make the first move. His impatience guarantees that he will. He raises his blade and brings it down in a swift, fierce some arc that would've cut me diagonally across my chest. It wouldn't be a mortal wound like it would be on most humans, especially with this much blood around me to heal with, but it would inhibit my fighting abilities and still cause major damage. I easily block with an uncomplicated swish of my sword, our blades clashing with that sweet sound of metal on metal.

He tries to push on against my sword, but my heightened strength easily outmatches his as I shove him to the ground. I go in for the quick and easy kill, sending my blade straight for his neck, but he manages to whack my foil aside with his.

He jumps back on his feet with almost acrobatic skill. I can smell more blood. Someone else has been killed, or at least heavily wounded. I turn my head around to the other battle to see Nivrad failing against the others. As my attention is drawn away my opponent lunges towards me I avoid and counter his blade away from me. His wrist draws back, hoping for a second assault. As he focuses on targeting me, I kick his legs out from underneath him. As he falls to the ground I force my blade through his armor and pierce his back in a deadly blow.

His body immediately goes limp.

I consider drinking some of his blood just for the hell of it. It smells so damn delicious. It might even have some alcohol still tinting it. But I know I still have opponents left and that mild skirmish barely took any energy from me.

One of the other two men targets his gun on me as the other smashes Nivard's head into the fortress wall repeatedly. Successive shots are fired at me. Had I had the normal agility of a human I would've at least been nicked by a few of the bullets, but they were easily avoidable using my vampiric speed.

I can see the shock and fear in the shooter's eyes as I completely disappear from his vision. It's almost amusing to see his visage as I stab him through the back.

With the other man content that Nivrad will never rise again, he focuses his attention on me. Immediately he begins shooting at me with impeccable accuracy. I barely avoid his shots. I quickly outrun his shots and run my blade through him.

That was actually pretty easy.

I stop at his body, extending my fangs to attack his neck. He's AB-Positive. I could smell it.

Each blood has a specific taste, which affects their scent. O-Positive tend to be sugar-sweet, the candy of all blood types. The same goes for O-Negative except there's something a little bitter about the taste. As if underneath it all there might be some sort of poison, but there never is. All type A blood is spicy. It sets your mouth on fire and as the blood flows through your body it has the same reaction. Type A is the best kind for small jolts of energy, but it wears off easily. Type B is so bitter it's almost disgusting. It hits the back of your throat the same way alcohol does. Oddly enough the bitterness is what draws every vampire back every time. Type AB Blood is a mix of the two.

As the blood flows from his neck and into my mouth my taste buds are set on fire from the Type A and my throat nearly sore from the Type B. His has a little more iron in it than usual. I suck it in faster and faster. He's already dead, I might as well take as much as I want and tide myself over. Drinking blood is beyond any human food. It's as if I've been starved for 1,000 years and are finally given a bite to eat. It's this orgasmic, exhilarating, and makes you feel like you've just snorted the best Opium in the world. It's almost impossible to rip yourself away from.

But I do.

Thank god for my enhanced restraint. It would look too suspicious to leave a guard here completely without blood. The people of the town would know something was wrong.

Stomach full, I walk through the door.

I wasn't ready for what I found.

"Who… who is this? Who's there?"

It's her.

I was wondering when the curse would strike again with its beautiful pain.

She was… utterly astounding. Her skin was naturally tanned, but you could tell she barely ever saw the sun. You could see it in her veins. Her hair was covered by a deep purple hijab, but a few strands of midnight black hair had escaped the hood and hung near her face. She had the most full, plush lips that matched her full, voluptuous body. She was on the heavier side, I imagine it has to do wit the fact she looks like she's never been outside, but it made her more gorgeous if anything. She smelled like strawberries, vanilla, and mint. Still, the most remarkable thing about her were her eyes. They were the most gorgeous green, but that's not what made them so noticeable. They were wide… almost like they were unused.

"I demand you identify yourself at once. What is happening out there?"

"My name is Michka," I say, trying to keep a calm voice as not to startle her.

"You're a woman!" Surprise fills her voice.

"Yes," I respond, confused. Of course I'm a woman. I thought it was rather apparent based on my attire and physical features.

I sheath my sword.

"Are you here to murder me?" she asks fearfully.

"I am here in search of a rumored treasure, invaluable to the owner," I reply. I had not been anticipating this turn of events, any of it. What am I to do now?

"You're a thief?"

This isn't a very good first impression I'm making. "Yes."

"What happened to the guards outside?"

"They're dead."

"You killed them." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yes." A look of disgust and horror crosses her face… and also happiness.

"They had families," she responds.

"I know."

"And names."

"Yes."

"And you killed them in the name of treasure?"

"Yes."

I wish I could lie to her right now, more than anything. I want to tell her I'm just a new guard, introducing myself as I relieve other from their duty. I don't want her to know me as this, as a murderer. I suppose now, at least, she'll see me for what I truly am. I am a coldhearted killer.

"Well… you're not exactly the hero I was looking for."

… Did she just say hero?

"I'm sorry, but what?"

"You're also not much of a thief either? You've only demanded to see the treasure once. You're allowing yourself to be rather sidetracked by my questions. Are you new to this?"

"What?" What is going on right now? I… I thought she would flee me or hide or perhaps stand to fight me, but this... this is not what I expected at all. I just admitted to being a cold-blooded murderer. Yet she calls me a hero?

"I always sort of imagined my savior would be… well, for one, male, but also more noble and valiant, not just a common thief. I'll take what I can get. Give me just a moment to grab something." She walks purposefully towards her bed, arms outstretched as if they were a safety net of some sort.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said the guards out there are incapacitated, yes?"

"They're dead."

"Yeah. I was also hoping my savor wouldn't be a killer. Nobody's perfect I suppose." She gropes around on the shelf, almost as if she were…

"Are you blind?"

She pauses for a moment, the happiness falling from her face. "Yes."

"Oh."

"You're a murderer and I'm blind. We're both degenerates."

"You're not a degenerate," I respond immediately. How could she have such a low opinion of herself?

"Darkness is my everlasting friend," she says in an over exaggerated, dramatic manner. It almost resembles a parody. "I long for the wings of freedom to set me free." She walks over to wear my voice had been. I make sure to walk towards her to help. "Please, save me," she says, gripping onto my shoulders as though she were a damsel in distress. She says it satirically, but I can tell that she truly means it. She's simply trying to hide behind humor.

"You… want me to save you?" I ask, still incredibly confused. "I don't understand."

"I've never been outside of my family's land. I want to explore the world, but my father thinks I need to be protected just because I'm blind," she explains. "Oh, rescue me, princess," she says, returning to her humorous pleas, falling theatrically in my arms.

What have I gotten myself into?

**Thank you guys so much for the reviews. Every single one matters and makes my day to see in my mailbox. I'm going to try and update way more frequently now that summers around (no guarantees).**

**How do you guys like the flashbacks? I know I love writing them, but are they fun for you guys?**


	7. Chapter 7: The Bella's

**Recap: Quinn wakes up and goes to take a shower, hearing a beautiful and mesmerizing voice singing, right before she mysteriously passes out. Late, she rushes to her next class with the cruel Cassandra "Crazy" July who has a grudge against her for a previous class her freshman year. Under an assignment to write about anything, she writes about a blind girl who found her freedom through the wings of a bird and their intimate relationship. Santana, conversely, writes about vampires. Santana passes easily and Quinn is sent back to try again.**

**I'm sorry if this is re-posting but I don't think it went through the first time so I took this chapter down and re-posted it.**

The Bella's

Santana's POV

"San? San, wake up." I can feel somebody nudging me insistently. Obviously they're trying to do it gently, but it's not. Whoever is waking me up is persistent and annoying, which can only mean one thing…

"Britt, what the hell?" I moan out groggily, trying to shield out the light and shove her away. I am a creature of the night. This up-and-at-'em-in-the-morning shit isn't going to cut it. Just five more minutes…

"San, wake up, I need to tell you something important!" she says giddily. I open my eyes ever so slightly, still adjusting to the harsh rays of sun shining through my all-too-open window. She's sitting there with the dumbest expression on her face and enough energy to have sucked 10 people dry.

"Who did you kill?" I ask dryly. I let out a large yawn as I snuggle deeper into the covers.

"What?" she asks. "I didn't kill anyone."

"Then it can wait until after 10." I quip back.

"But it can't."

"I think it can," I respond. I can feel myself drifting back into the beautiful darkness of sleep. Maybe I'll keep dreaming of Quinn and how very, very naked she was. Wait… Quinn?

The subject of my R-rated dream hits my suddenly conscious brain in the same way I imagine being hit by a bullet train might feel. I can't be dreaming about that. The moment I allow myself to fall down the rabbit hole, even subconsciously, there's no climbing out. I have to focus on living in the now and living for me. I can't keep fucking up her life.

"What's up, Britt?" I ask, hoping to focus my attention anywhere else. I almost find myself praying for some war between the Maleficiī or a month long exam. I just need something to distract me right now.

"I think I met my mate!" I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Okay, what did it feel like?" I indulge her.

"Well, he had the most beautiful eyes," she says dreamily. "And when he spoke… mmm." I can see a shiver almost imperceptibly run down her spine. "And his blood… O-Positive. It smelled so good. It tasted as sweet as… a stick of peppermint."  
"Okay," I say calmly. "When you first saw them, what was your initial thought?"

She pauses for a moment, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she recalls her emotions. "How incredibly hot he was."

I nod my head. Okay, reasonable. That's how pretty much every mate feels when he or she truly meets his or her soul mate. "What was different about him?"

"I just felt… drawn to him. Like everything in the universe was drawing me in," she says. Again, I concede. Maybe she has met her mate after all.

Finally, I ask my last question. "Did you feel this overwhelming need to protect him? Would you have given your life if he'd asked, even though you've never met him."

She pauses again. I see a frown emerge on her face and cloudiness in her eyes. "Well… no, but I figured maybe that comes later after knowing them."

"Britt, I'm pretty sure he was just a really delicious looking guy. The moment you meet your mate… You just know. There's this overwhelming need to do any and everything for them. It's so much deeper than anything sexual or even hunger related. It's this-"

"Intense emotional connection," she interrupts, finishing my sentence. She rolls her eyes and begins to pout. "I know. You've told me that a thousand times before. I just… I really thought it could be him."

I put a comforting hand on top of hers. Brittany's been searching for her soul mate since the day I told her that everybody – whether Maleficiī or human – has one. It's always been this way. Every couple of months she'd come running to me, insisting that she met her soul mate for one reason or another. She's obviously never had any experience with a soul mate; especially not in the ways I have, so she just can't distinguish. The day she does find whoever she's looking for though, she'll know. Everybody she ever knew or thought might be the one will fade away. She'll know when it really does happen.

"Well… I'm surprised to see you're here," Brittany says, keeping her mind off of another 'love lost.'

"What do you mean?" I ask, rubbing any sleep left from my eyes.

"Well I mean, neither one of us is usually here. We both meet up after our mutual walks-of-shame," she replies.

"Hey, when I leave in the morning it's never a walk of shame. It's a march of pride," I counter.

She giggles, but it's not the same as it normally is. She always gets into a sort of somber mood for about a day whenever this happens. She just wants to find love, but it's hiding pretty damn well. "Okay Ms. Sex Kitten," she says that dopey voice I love.

"And I mean, I was out for some of the night. I got in my usual night of fun, leggy brunette and all."

"Whop there it is," Brittany interjects. She's been quoting that Pitch Perfect movie religiously ever since seeing it.

I glare at her playfully. "I just left in the middle of the night. I didn't feel too much like staying so I came back here to crash."

"How unlike you Santana," Brittany banters back. "A brunette? You haven't had one of those in awhile."

Immediately I remember exactly why, bringing on a whole new wave of sadness. I've always been a blonde's sort of girl. My soul mate's been every single skin tone and every single hair color under the sun, but for some reason I've still always had a bit of a thing for blondes. Now though, my soul mate is a blonde and I can't have anything to do with her. "Yeah well, I'm trying to avoid them or now."

"Why?" she asks, befuddled. "Does this have to do with Quinn?"

I chuckle. "Well, when the one girl who you can't be with is who you're supposed to be with you try to disassociate from all things her," I say dryly. It's supposed to come off humorous, making fun of my own problems, but all it tastes like is bitter.

"Well, you're going above and beyond the call of duty," Brittany replies. I snort, but I'm not laughing. She sends me a sad smile. Suddenly, she throws on a beaming, overly happy smile. It should be fake. Nobody should be able to change moods that fast, but Brittany's always been awful at staying sad. "You look like you need a hug." She throws her arms out in front of her and begins to wiggle her fingers, coaxing me in next to her.

Eventually, the two of us simply end up lying on the bed, my waist enveloped by her arms. Sometimes I wish I could just be with Brittany. I'd keep her safe and love her no matter what. She'd brighten my days and love me back. She's my best friend. We could be happy together. But we'd never be right together. I know that and she knows that. But sometimes I just wish I could be in her arms where things are so much simpler and she makes 2+2=4.

"You know I have an 8am, right?" I say through the silence.

"Good thing it's 5am. We've got three hours to sit here being lonely and heartbroken together."

***Blood***

"The world is just not giving me any breaks!" I groan angrily, collapsing on Brittany's bed.

"What happened?

"She's in my writing class."

"Who? Was it Lady Tubbington?" she asks seriously. "I thought I told her to stay with Lord Tubbington and Carmen the Cat Lady. I always knew this day would come, she's too much of an independent, strong-willed cat to be held down by a man like Lord Tubbington and his drug habits, but I didn't expect it so soon."

"Quinn."

"Wow, maybe the universe is trying to tell you something," Brittany muses.

"Yeah. It hates me just like the rest of the world." I let out a frustrated moan as I slam a pillow on top of my face.

"Nobody hates you," Brittany supports, getting up from her computer and moving to her bed.

"Tell that to the hundreds of people who have tried to kill me or, y'know, the people that cursed me," I retort.

"That's different." She begins running her fingers soothingly through my hair. She always knows exactly how to calm me down. "They don't hate you. They're just afraid."

"Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate," I begin to quote from Star Wars.

"And hate leads to the dark side," Brittany supplies the end. "They're succumbing to their dark side. They're the bad ones, which must mean you're good by default." I roll my eyes. How comforting. Good by default. "The universe favors good people."

"I'll believe it when I see it," I snort. "You're the best person I know and look what the universe did to you. It made you a vampire. It stole your life away."

She shakes her head vigorously. "No, it gave me a new life that's even better. It gave me a life with you in it." She sends me one of those smiles that brightens the room and makes you feel better just by association.

"Proving my point that the universe just fucks good people over," I reply. "You know this means I'm going to have to drop that class now, right."

"Okay. Is there another course of it can you take?"

"Yeah maybe, but I'll have to drop first year psych. I can always take that second semester," I shrug.

Brittany nods in agreement. Her fingers play with my air for a few more silent minutes before she gets that immediate zap of energy that seems to hit Brittany at least once an hour. "You know what you need? You need a fun distraction in a Quinn-free environment."

"You wanna have another fucking contest?" I ask eagerly. "We can make the stakes even higher. Instead of who can just sleep with more people within a week we make a daily limit on the week too. So you have to fuck with at least 3 people a day to avoid being disqualified, then we tally up at the end of the week."

Brittany laughs. "No silly. We all know I won that. I'm not looking for any sort of rematch."

"Afraid I'll beat you?" I wiggle my eyebrows, coaxing her into competition.

"As if. I was thinking more along the lines of the club fair that's happening. I know you're all no-school-spirit and school-sponsored-shit-is-for-nerds but you should give it a try."

"No."

"Why not?" she whines.

"Because school sponsored shit is for nerds."

"Come on San, do it for me? Pretty please!" She gives me the biggest, most begging puppy dog eyes in the world. "You should come. Maybe something will catch you eye. Pretty please with sugar and O-Negative blood on top!"

I roll my eyes. I never have been able to hold out against Brittany's puppy dog eyes. "Fine." I roll off the bed as she lets out a squeal. "Let's get going."

"What are the fucking odds she'd be in my class," I mutter angrily as I open the door to leave our dorm.

"Actually it was 50% chance."

***Life***

Five people take the stage, all standing in a line so we can see them. I admit, this is a pretty good turnout for an audition to join an a capella group. I still can't believe I let Brittany drag me here. Yes I love to perform, but this is sort of lame. I mean a college singing group is bad enough but a capella? I really wish there were other options.

A tall, oafish boy stands on the far left of the five-person line. "Welcome to the 2015 A Capella Auditions," he says. "I'm Finn Hudson and I'm the leader of the Treblemakers."

An attractive blonde cheerleader-type standing next to him speaks up next in next. "Hello, my name is Aubrey Posen,"

"And I'm Chloe Beale," a cheery redhead cuts in.

"And the two of us are the leaders of the campus' all girls group the Bellas," the blonde finishes smoothly. I notice her veins sticking out, her pulse beating rapidly. She's nervous… and I'm hungry.

The fourth guy steps up next. "I'm Ryder Lynn and this is Stacie Conrad," he says, motioning to the end of the line to his right. I immediately lose all respect for him due to his Justin Bieber haircut. The girl on the other hand… well, she's physically flawless. "We are the leaders of Tonal Recall."

"You have a minute and a half to sing a song of your choosing and you'll know in three days if you've been picked to join one of our groups," Chloe says enthusiastically. She reminds me of Brittany. They have the same smile, the kind that's just so infectious you can't help but want to smile back and you begin to wonder how it's possible for someone to have such a profound effect on you.

"If you have a specific preference to which group you'd like to join you can mention it and it'll be taken into account by each group leader," Bieber boy adds.

"Remember we all want for you to do well. There's no pressure as long as you have fun!" Finn sends us an awkward smile and an encouraging thumbs up as the five vacate the stage and into their seats where they'll be judging us all. I can add him to the list of people I dislike.

The auditions go by in a blur. As they continue on I find myself getting more and more excited. Watching everybody sing and letting the feeling the beat reminds me of singing and how much I truly do love it.

There are a few memorable auditons here and there. There was this one really good rapper who went up. Something about her just flowed with the beat as the rhymes slid off her tongue with ease. I don't really remember her name; I just remember she was good.

There was a guy too, Sam. He had the biggest, most pillow-y lips I've ever seen. I can't tell if that makes me want to fuck him more or if it's simply a turn off. Either way, his voice was still incredible. He put in a special request to join The Treblemakers.

"Um… Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez?" The brunette, Stacie, calls out distractedly as she looks up from the nails she's filing to check whose name is next on the list.

Brittany grabs my hand nervously. I can practically feel her jittery excitement. That might also be because she's projecting her thoughts onto me. She's not doing it on purpose, but she's just so excited I can't help but hear them. They remind me of how a really enthusiastic puppy who needs to pee really badly sounds.

I take my place, just as we rehearsed, on towards the left of the stage. Britt proceeds to the center of the stage to announce what we're doing. "Hi, I'm Brittany. That's Santana." She motions in my direction. "We think it'd be really awesome to join The Bella's and we're going to sing 'Valerie' by Amy Winehouse."

She scurries off towards her side of the stage, sending me a reassuring smile as we both wait for the unheard beat to begin. As if on cue, we both begin.

Brittany begins singing immediately. She has this strong, beautiful voice that echoes throughout the halls and I can tell she's at least impressed most of the leaders. She's even vaguely caught Stacie's attention, if only for a split second.

**Well sometimes I go out by myself**

**And I look across the water**

The two of us dance the way we rehearsed, but honestly we could've just made it up on the spot and still have appeared to choreograph the piece months before. We knew each other well and playing off of each other way easy.

**And I think of all the things, what you're doing**

**And in my head I paint a picture**

She points her finger at me, making a cutesie motion as though we she were painting as I shimmy towards her.

We skip to the next verse where I begin to take over.

**Did you have to go to jail?**

**Put your house up for sale, did you get a good lawyer?**

Immediately I can feel the energy building up inside of me. It feels good to be on stage. It feels right. There's no anxiety and there's no nerves. It's exactly where I should be.

Brittany twirls as I sing along and all I know is how much I've missed this. I have to remember to thank Brittany for forcing me to do this as soon as its over.

**I hope you didn't catch a tan**

**I hope you'll find the right man who'll fix it for ya**

I let Brittany take center stage as I keep singing. I do some smaller movements in the background, a wave with my hand or a few back and forth moves with my feet that look more complicated than they really are, but she's the real focus right now. She's showing off exactly why, on top of math, she's majoring in dance.

**And are you shopping anywhere,**

Then, I hear a door open and scampering footsteps catch my attention.

**Changed the color of your hair, are you busy?**

I can feel my confidence and drive leaving me, like I'd been filled to the brim with the most amazing feeling in the world and then a flash flood came and wiped it out without any warning.

She's here and she's walking towards some of the other known members of The Bella's. I can tell she's not here as a supporting friend or because maybe she's an interested viewer of the arts. She's here because she's a Bella.

I came here to get away from her, as a distraction. I found something here I enjoyed that she couldn't taint with her perfection. And now she's here, which means I can't be anymore.

My body is working on autopilot. I'm not even sure if I'm dancing anymore. I know I'm still singing, but I barely even care anymore. All of my energy is focused on her.

**And did you have to pay that fine**

She looks really good. She looks gorgeous in fact. She's wearing a skirt, a far cry from the racy outfit she wore to creative writing class. It's not too short or anything, in fact it's rather conservative, but I still imagine all the things my hand could be doing under it. She's smiling and a hint of laughter comes out and all I can focus on is how melodic her laugh sounds.

I know nothing about her, at least not in this life, but I want to get to know her. The lamia in me wants to go up to her and kiss her, hold her hand, just be near her in any way and make sure she's happy. The human in me wants to do the same.

But I don't want to do that. I want to stay away from her, ironically because I love her too much. I need to get away from here.

**You were dodging all the time are you still dizzy?**

Thankfully, Brittany takes over now and her voice brings me back to the now. I can't leave now. Brittany's audition is riding on my performance too. I have another promise to fulfill, an unspoken one I've made to her. I'm never going to let her down or hurt her.

So I focus back in on the performance.

'**Cause since I've come on home**

**Well my body's been a mess**

I join in and sing with her as I play with her hair and her fingers run on my skirt.

**And I've missed your ginger hair**

**And the way you like to dress**

I run away from her playfully, just like we rehearsed, before stopping and making a coaxing motion for her to come towards me. The two of us grab hands and begin dancing to the upbeat sound of the song.

**Won't you come on over**

**Stop making a fool out of me**

**Why don't you come on over Valerie?**

**Valerie**

**Valerie**

**Valerie**

And then, the performance is over.

Everybody's eyes are on us. I can feel it. I can see Quinn's pulse racing just a little bit faster than usual and as the clapping continues I run out of there before I can do something I'll regret…

***Love***

I can hear footsteps following me out behind the closed doors. "San, what is it?"

"That girl that entered," I respond. "It was Quinn. I can't stay there and I definitely can't join."

"Oh San." I can hear the pity in Brittany's voice as clear as day, making me shrug off her hand as she tries to place it on my shoulder. I can tell without looking that she's hurt. "Maybe you could stick around though? You have the restraint of like, a thousand vampires," she suggests.

"It's so hard to control myself around her. You wouldn't understand. You've never met your mate," I say, brushing her off. I know as soon as I say it that it's sort of unfair. Every lamia has to deal with bloodlust and the fact that she has hers under control is never something I should underestimate.

"Santana, I know I've never met my soul mate or anything, but you have many, many times and you've been strong in every single one. You've been just friends before and you can do it again."

"That was different. I could still be around her, near her. I can't even be that now," I respond bitterly.

"Look, you can't just let her rule your entire life," Brittany says. She sounds serious, hard and serious. "I saw you on that stage before and you were so happy. You weren't that happy since you discovered that journal written by John Adams while you were exploring." I still smile at the thought. That had been my crowning achievement under my last identity as Michaela Turmique. "I just don't want to see you lose something you enjoy so much. Give it two weeks and… and if you still can't handle it you can drop out no muss no fuss. Please."

***Blood***

Quinn P.O.V

I love parties. I always have. When I was five years old I'd grab my pink, pet calendar and write in big red letters whoever's birthday party I'd been invited to and I'd count down the days. They were always such big events and I could see all my friends outside of school.

Middle school had even better parties. It's where you could pick up all the latest gossip on everybody and, if you paid really close attention, you could see much of the coming drama as it happened.

Even high school parties were great. I didn't go to the typical high school parties with all the football players and kegs and the bitchy cheerleaders. No, I went to parties in other kids' basements where the weed was plentiful, the keg was always brewing, and the Adderall had been scored that morning from all the ADHD kids. We were a tight knit group. There were no bustling bodies or faces you'd only see every Friday night. We saw each other almost every day and all just lounged on couches getting so high we'd sometimes just strip down naked or chase down a figment of our imaginations.

It wasn't until I reached college that I realized I hadn't ever been to a real party. Those were all gatherings or hangouts or loosely termed "parties," but colleg was where the real partying happened. All the frats would have alcohol and everybody would be dancing and nobody would be sober – even the designated driver would've sneaked a few cups – and your spirit would be so high from all the energy in the room you don't even need the alcohol.

My favorite party though, will always be the ones thrown by a Capella groups. It should seem lame, especially in comparison to frat parties, but a Capella parties are where are the talented people who can sing and really throw down are. There's no such thing as sloppy grinding at an a Capella party and when people dance it's not just jumping to the beat; there's full blown salsa dancing or hip hop or contemporary. Everybody can sing and everyone knows all of the latest songs with the best beat drops.

It's not even a party anymore. It's something more than that.

Everybody here is singing their lungs out or standing quietly off to the side flirting. The new baby Bella's are jumping around excitedly, getting to know the new and old Bella's, Treblemakers, and Recallers. I can already tell this is going to be a good year with all the new talent joining us.

As the song winds down I make my way through the massive crowd of bodies and towards the drinks. Singing your heart out and dancing until your feet hurt can be tiring.

The moment I reach for the can of beer– always reach for the unopened thing – another hand touches mine, causing me to jump back and let go of the can.

A blonde guy with slicked back hair, a sweet, country-boy smile, and a jawline to die for turns his head towards me. I recognize him from the auditions. His lips are so huge. "I uh… think this is yours," he says with awkward charm as he offers me the cold can.

"Yeah, thanks," I reply with a smile. I can already feel the blush heating up my cheeks as I accept the beer.

Suddenly, his face squinches up a little and he looks very serious. "Evans," he says in a deep voice unlike before. "Sam Evans."

I laugh. "I'm Fabray. Quinn Fabray," I respond in my normal voice. "And Your Bond impression is terrible." The smile slides off his face with a combination of hurt and joking. "What's your major?"

He stumbles for a second, still clearly caught off guard at my comment, "I'm studying uh to be a doctor with a minor in sports therapy," he replies. "What about you?"

"I'm undecided between writing, photography, and law but leaning towards the latter."

He nods, but his head is clearly somewhere else. "Okay, wait a second," his hands wave around in a stopping motion. "You don't like my Bond impression?"

I laugh. "No it was terrible," I respond with a smile.

"You will die of suffocation," he says, his voice lowering once again, "in the icy cold of space." He strikes a dramatic pose before leaning down into a bow.

"I really hope that was a movie quote and not a death threat," I respond jokingly.

"That was Kang!" he says in exasperation.

"Who?"

"From Star Trek!"

"Oh yeah, I saw that new one… Into Darkness?"

"Is that it?"

"Are there more?"

"Oh my god! How did you get into Yale with an education like this!" He's moving around erratically, his arms flailing everywhere. It's honestly kind of adorable. "There's Star Trek from 1966-1969," he begins ticking off each part of the franchise on his fingers, "and Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Century, and my personal favorite Star Trek: Next Generation."

"I just saw the Into Darkness one and didn't like it that much," I respond.

"Well of course you didn't! That was one of the new shitty ones. You have to go old school! Quinn Fabray?"

"Yes?"

"You and I are going to be good friends."

"Oh?" I raise one of my eyebrows. "Why is that?"

"Because," he puts his left arm around me as his right arm opens up across the sky, "You and I are going to have a Star Trek movie marathon and I'm going to open your eyes to a whole new world of movie and TV watching."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Yes, Spock," he says with a dreamy look in his eyes.

"Spock… he's the guy with pointy ears right?"

He sighs dramatically. "Quinn! You wound me! He is so much more than that…"

**Sam was a great character of perfectly average intelligence and then they just made him an idiot in season 4 to have him be with Brittany. It always felt like such a cop-out and a character change to me. And it always felt like the message was, "If you have dyslexia then you can't be smart." Untrue.**

**Anyways, Sam rant aside, I hope you enjoyed. Enjoy your fourth of July!**


	8. Chapter 8: Content

**Once again, clearly you guys don't want to have to read Hindi or read translated Hindi (not do I know Hindi anyways) so I have to write in English, but for authenticity's sake please pretend that it's in Hindi.**

**Also, I literally know nothing about current day India so I sure as hell know like… negative nothing about India in 1543 or Hinduism so please, everything I say in any historical or religious context, don't trust.**

**Also, I respect anybody who doesn't like this story anymore. We all have our own tastes and I hope you enjoy however much you read be it only a sentence or the whole story. **

**In response to some reviews: Sam is rather prevalent in this story so if you're going to have a hard time with that this is a warning. Pitch Perfect is prevalent in this and especially in the beginning chapters but as it goes on it definitely fades out into nothing more than like… a J plot as opposed to B plot.**

Content

India, 1543

Rivya (Santana) &amp; Kvina (Quinn)

"Om Bhur Bhuva Svah

Tat Savitur Varenyam

Bhargo Devasya Dhimahli

Dhiyo Yo Naha Prachodayat"

I wait until she finishes Gayatri before tapping on her open, turquoise door a couple of times with my knuckles to signal my entrance. She looks up from the small but overflowing shrine she's made up in her house. After months you'd think a smile would lose its charm or its magic, but hers never has. It still makes me feel… whole. It's the only thing in this world that does anymore.

"Namastē, Rivya," she says excitedly. She stands up quickly, sari gathering off the floor to surround her shapely body, to greet me.

"Namastē, Kvina," I reply. She pulls me into a brief, loose hug. Her arms just barely wrap around waist and upper back for more than a split second, but it still leaves me breathless. She leaves me breathless. I wish, in that moment, I could trade in every ability I have and just be able to stop time. I could stay in her arms for eternity.

In the blink of an eye her body is no longer touching mine and her back is towards me, wandering off towards the other side of the room. "Would you like some water?" she asks, readying herself to pour me a glass.

"I'm fine. Thank you though," I respond graciously, just beginning to come out of my stupor at having touched her.

"One of these days," she says with a cluck of her tongue, "I'm going to get you to eat or drink something. We've known each other for months and not once have you ever taken me up on my offer!"

"What can I say?" I reply with a shrug. "I guess you're water is simply not good enough." I smirk.

"Rude," she teases. "Come! Sit! My bustling boys will be back soon and we must have the time to speak of naughty things before then," she says, making her way over to a couple pillows on the floor with a look so scandalous it should be illegal on her face. Just hearing her say the word naughty floods my mind with less than savory thoughts.

I hate this.

I make my way over to her and take a seat on a pillow to the right of her, proceeding with out daily ritual of talk and gossip. "You must tell me everything that's going on! Fill this boring, housewives' mind with glorious thoughts to quell my burning imagination!"

I laugh, not at her but because I have no other way to express my sheer happiness. I try not to, but I can't help it the same way I can't help being around her no matter how much it hurts. I've always loved the way she's spoken. She's barely got an education, but she talks as eloquently as the emperor. When she speaks it isn't about purpose or the quickest way to things. It's about the beauty in saying it. She'll never be one to mince words, quite the contrary; she'll go into long, drawn out phrases with hundreds of adjectives and plenty of hyperbole or litotes just for the effect. She takes a boring, mundane task that is taken for granted and turns it into something poetic.

It's one of an infinite amount of things that makes me love her.

"You're not boring," I reply sincerely.

She laughs, this time at herself. "I am a housewife who keeps the home clean and waits around for her busy friend to stop by and for her boys to come home. I have no exciting job like you or adventures to take. I'm like every other woman in our village. I'm the epitome of boring." She smiles.

It's always been something I've admired in her. For as long as I've known her she's wanted to travel. She's wanted adventure and action. Yet, she's trapped in this utterly ordinary life here. She's never left her hometown, not for anything. And she's never complained or wished for things to be different. She's never once referred to herself as trapped. She's a bird whose wings have been cut off, but that's not how she sees it. She sees herself simply as a bird whose chosen not to fly. I've offered to take her with me when I'm sent out to report on the news, but she's never said yes. 'Who would be waiting at home for my Karta and Deva, ready to hear about their mundane days but still remained utterly enthralled?' she'd always say.

"You're never boring to me. You're the most exciting part of my day," I admit to her, chewing rather ferociously on my lip.

She smiles that smile that makes me feel so at peace with myself, knowing that what I've said has made her happy. "And you are mine, Rivya," she says, placing a hand on my arm. Her fingers brush up and down in a comforting motion that I relish. After a few moments, she pulls herself away and the mood changes from its serious tone to a more lighthearted joy. "Enough of that! You must tell me what's happening in the vast world!"

"Well…" I trail off unsurely.

"Come now, you work for one of the most read news in the region. Surely you must know something juicy that I can run off and tell all my other friends," she razzes. Her green eyes sparkle with impish delight.

"I'm simply afraid I didn't get any interesting news articles this time." She responds with an I-don't-believe-you face. "Honestly," I continue to justify. "All I was assigned was some foolishness about a pot maker whose name is beginning to spread, an article on the growing demand for honey, and a bit about merchant trading."

"The demand for honey is growing?" she says with an amused look. "Oh wow, we must call all the presses and get this story out," she mocks.

"Hey, apparently people read this nonsense," I respond. "For instance, those who import honey."

"My apologies," she laughs.

"I know; it's all rather trivial. I did, however, hear, another man get a story about a recent bout of burglaries," I say with a mischievous wiggle of my eyebrows. Immediately Kvina leans in towards me and I know I have her completely captivated.

"Tell me all about it," she says eagerly.

"It's a pretty new thing. We're not even sure if it's a pattern, but my boss thinks that it might be something."

"Well, don't leave me hanging!"

"What I'm trying to say is there's not much to tell. I only know that there have been a couple of burglaries, on the higher end side. So far it's been small things, but they're growing little by little. Soon more than a couple of earrings and bracelets may be gone."

"Rivya, you live on the higher end side," Kvina frets with concern.

"I wouldn't worry about it," I reply nonchalantly.

"Of course I worry about it!" she demands.

"Kvina, it could just be nothing. Even if it is something we live in a huge town. What are the odds that mine would be the house targeted?"

"Rivya, you can't just float along in life and hope everything works out for the best. You're not some invincible hero that life doesn't touch. Don't be stupid!" Immediately her face of anger turns into fear and guilt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn like that. It wasn't my place."

"It's alright, Kvina." I place my hand on her arm.

"I just… I only do it because I care and I'm worried for you."

"I know," I reassure her.

"I shouldn't have lost myself there," she apologizes. "It's just that I feel so comfortable around you I sometimes forget." It hurts me to see her scolding herself as though she were a foolish little girl. She could never be foolish.

"Never apologize for being yourself."

Her green eyes meet mine with such vulnerability and love and all I can think is how nice this is. I could live contently a full, complete life like this. I could marry this girl and come home to her every day and tell her about the daily news and she could tell me about the next-door neighbor's gossip and we could laugh and laugh and laugh as her beautiful, vulnerable green eyes sparkled with joy and amusement. We'd have dinner every night, something she'd grabbed from the market earlier that day. Then we'd retire to the bed and I would show her how much I love her or maybe we'd just lie in bed as I held her in my arms. I could live like this.

The sound of a young boy calling snaps me out of my daydreaming.

"Mama!"

But that can never happen. That isn't my life and it never will be. She's happily married (to a man who is never around, off selling items to China) and she has two beautiful boys that she loves more than the world. She'd never leave me and I'd never ask her to. I love her enough not to ruin her life.

She'd become a social outcast, a pariah. Living with a woman? Marrying a woman? Leaving her husband? It's simply not an option. And her two boys, Karta and Deva, they'd be bullied. She'd never do anything against them. If they didn't approve, and they wouldn't, she'd never do it.

She doesn't love me anyways. Maybe in another life she did, but not in this one. I know that she's meant to love me and she probably could, but she doesn't. Right now she doesn't and she probably never will, at least not in the way I want her to.

So instead, I'll stop by her house every day for as long as she's alive. She'll offer me a glass of water and we'll sit on these pillows and talk for a while until her boys come home. Then they'll recount their school day and the two of us will help them with any work they brought home. At dinner I'll take my leave. I'll go back to my house on the other side of town where my expensive, at least for this area, house is and I'll stay up for awhile, find a food source, and retire as well. That's the life I'm cursed with, but at least it's a life with her. And I'll just have to be content with it.

"Hello, sweet Deva!" She gets up from her pillow to meet the little boy halfway as he runs through the doorway. She opens her arms, bombarded by his weight in seconds as her arms envelop his in a hug longer than any I've ever received from her.

She finally pulls away from him; hands still gripping both his arms, as she looks him square in the eye. "Where's Karta and Rohan?"

"They're just saying goodbye to their friends outside," he says with a shrug.

"Come on, take a seat and say hello to Rivya," she says, guiding him over the same as she does every day.

"Namaste, Rivya," he says. His brown chestnut hair sweeps into his eyes as he bows his head ever so slightly. He takes a seat on one of the four cushions to the left of his mother.

"Namaste, Deva," I respond. "How was school?"

"School was school," he responds with a shrug. "We recited our daily prayers and learned more about our oneness with the universe. Saeed did talk back to the teacher today though!" He looks so like his mother as his green eyes light up as he relays the day's latest transgression excitedly. He has her eyes and jawline. He has his father's distinct nose though.

"Did he?" Kvina teased. "He must've gotten in a load of trouble."

"He did. He—"

At that exact moment Karta entered the house. He's been styling his hair differently for the last couple of weeks. He's done having it droop in his eyes like his little brother. He's so quick to grow up. He's only eleven but he's just as moody as any fifteen year old. "Namaste Ma," he says as he pulls his shoes off with each foot. Another boy, Rohan, trails behind him. Karta drops his books on a table by the door. They have a little bit of dirt on the bottom of them. He must've put them down on the ground when he said goodbye to his friends. "Namaste Rivya."

"Namaste Ms. Bacca, Ms. Rivya," he says politely. Rohan comes home with Karta every day. After his father died his mother's had to take up a job and hasn't wanted him to be alone at home. Under these circumstances normally grandparents or relatives would take him for the day, but there are none. So Karta started bringing him home and it simply became a normal thing. Now he comes here and eats dinner and then his mother stops by and brings him home. He doesn't live too far away.

Rohan goes to grab himself some water as Karta makes his way over to his mother to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. He tries to walk away quickly after that, making haste to his bedroom so he and Rohan can do whatever young boys do (probably talk about girls and hate their parents), but Kvina is faster. "Where do you think you're going?" She grabs his arm, keeping him.

"Ma," he groans. "Rohan and I just want to go to my room and hang out." I laugh. He should know better.

"No. You're both going to sit down – at least for a little while – and tell me about your days first," she demands.

"Mom!" I can't see his face, but I can tell it must be filled with embarrassment.

"It's okay," says Rohan, making his way over with two cups of water in his hand. He hands one over to Karta. The two of them make their way over to the other pillows on the floor. Karta takes a seat next to his brother Deva and Rohan between the two of us.

As we all go around, laughing and telling the completely ordinary yet still exhilarating day's stories, all I can think is: Okay. I can be content like this.

**Blood**

Her neck is almost entirely black, filled with buboes. Her body shows other signs of The Black Death, but I didn't want to see them. I quickly grab the sheet and cover her body except for her face, her beautiful face that still remains as flawless as ever. Her lips are still a healthy pink. Her body is still warm; I can feel it emanating out of her. I consider getting lost in the fantasy of her still alive, but I know it will hurt them too much.

Deva and Karta were standing off to the side in a corner. Deva is sobbing in the corner, enveloped in Karta's arms. Karta had to hold him back for a while. Deva just wanted to hug his mother, but he'd be might infected if he did. Karta and I both know that.

The poor boys couldn't even touch her to close her eyes. Instead, her once beautiful green eyes just stared back at you, lifeless and haunting. The image is seared onto my brain for all of eternity.

I wait just a moment more before reaching down. I can't take it anymore. My fingers connect with her eyelids to close them.

"Rivya, don't!" Karta cries out.

"It's okay, Karta. I'm fine." I'm a vampire. I can't contract any sickness or disease, at least not one that would hurt a human.

I only wish I'd known. I could've stopped this. I could've turned her.

"We have to tell your father," I say unsteadily. "I'll send a message boy for him."  
But I couldn't have. Not really. I found out when it was too late. She had passed away overnight.

I wonder why her eyes were open.

"It's a good thing you boys got me," I say absent-mindedly.

"Mommy…" Deva says in a cracked voice through his tears.

Though I've been talking to them for a while now, I finally begin to truly acknowledge their presence. They shouldn't be here. They shouldn't have to see her like this longer than they already have.

"Boy," I turn around, "Come on, we should leave."

"I'm not leaving my mother!" Deva cries. He suddenly breaks hold of Karta, who hadn't particularly been holding that hard since Deva has stopped struggling minutes ago, and raced towards his mother.

Before he could even get closer I blocked his path, wrapping my arms around him into a hug. He collapsed in my arms, even more tears flowing down his face. "I don't want to leave her."

Karta remained brooding in the corner.

"We have to go," I whisper in his ear.

"I didn't" – hiccup – "get to say" – sniffle – "goodbye."

None of us did.

**Life**

2 Years Later…

"Karta, wake up!" I call out as I balance water, a bowl, and a fresh pear in my hands.

"Deva, go wake up your lazy brother," I say. Why is it I can never get Karta up when he's supposed to be awake? Deva scurries off towards his older brother's room. He's so grown up now. I guess having your mother die does that to a person.

I have no idea how Kvina did this all by herself. Granted I only have to do it for a couple months at a time until their father comes home, but it's still hard.

Karta walks grumpily into the room and makes a grand gesture, "I'm awake, calm down." He trudges back sleepily to his room just down the hallway.

Just a couple minutes later the two walk through and I both throw them a fresh piece of fruit – our usual ritual – to eat on their walk to school. "You boys go and learn something! Oh, and don't forget to say Gayatri!"

Both of them sigh and roll their eyes a little before dutifully making their way over to the altar before leaving for school:

"Om Bhur Bhuva Svah

Tat Savitur Varenyam

Bhargo Devasya Dhimahli

Dhiyo Yo Naha Prachodayat"

**If I get thirteen reviews on this chapter I'll update in five days and the next one's a present-day!**

**So, I have this headcanon, guys, where Rohan and Karta are actually in love with each other and sometime soon after this Karta's father finds out and sends him away and he permanently lives with Rivya.**

**I've found that writing the flashbacks have been so much easier for me than writing the present day plot so these are always a lot of fun for me and I'm glad that, for a majority of you, they're fun for you too.**


	9. Chapter 9: Brings Me Back To You

**Okay, so it's a long AN, but I do suggest you read it.**

**So, firstly, a day after posting I got 11 reviews. By day 2 I got 20. That meant so much to me and i want to thank everyone who stepped up and reviewed, especially those who identified themselves as typically silent appreciators. I REACHED 100 REVIEWS AND IM SO HAPPY! Which is why I'm actually posting this a day ahead of time.**

**A note on the flashbacks:**

**1) They occur every other chapter. If you're not a fan or you become sick of them you can skip them. For the most part they add detail but they're not necessary. If I think they're absolutely necessary in some way to the present plot (like chapter 2 was definitely something you needed to read) I'll mark it with something in the AN.**

**2) I know they jump around a lot, but I try to make it coincide with the present plot. So, like in the last chapter I mentioned how Santana has just been friends with Quinn – no romance – so I did a flashback of that. In chapter 1 I mentioned the promise, so you see a flashback of the promise and its motivations. There is generally some connection or purpose behind when I show you certain flashbacks.**

**3) I will revisit other timelines, but later on in the story once I need them.**

**4) I could post two chapters every time, so the present &amp; its flashback so that during each update you still get to read a chapter if you skip flashbacks and then it's just double fun for those who do read flashbacks. However, this will obviously take longer.**

**Recap: Santana switches out of her writing class to avoid Quinn… only to end up joining campus-singing group The Bella's of which Quinn is a member. Brittany convinces Santana to stay for at least two weeks before quitting. Quinn meets Sam at an a capella party and the two seem to connect.**

Brings Me Back To You

ESTP. It stands for Extrovert, Sensing, Thinking, and Perceiving. Britt's obsessed with all of these 'know yourself better' quizzes - The narcissism quiz, Myers Briggs, Which Faction From _Divergent_ Are You? – So she made me take this stupid personality quiz and I got ESTP.

I can't say I entirely disagree with my result. ESTP's are labeled entrepreneurs. We're a blunt group who isn't afraid to get our hands dirty. Apparently, Angeline Jolie, Meryl Streep, Mila Kunis, Robin Thicke, and Amy Winehouse were are all ESTP's. Maybe it's in our hardwiring to be on stage.

"Welcome to this year's first official Bella's practice," the blonde whose name I forgot says. She's clearly tense; all of her muscles are tight, her jaw is clenched, and her hand is wrapped into a tight fist. The crowd of girls cheers. "With so many new faces, we should really introduce ourselves."

"Have a nice little meet-and-greet," the peppy redhead with the shining blue eyes says. I think her name was Chloe? The blonde looks over at her with a polite but agitated smile. I can tell she's angry and intolerant. She's being nice to Red as some sort of courtesy or caring, but she's more irritated than she lets on.

"Exactly," the blonde says. "Say your name, your grade, and what your contribution to this group is." I can hear her continued tought, _'If you don't have anything to contribute to this group I'll treat you like secondhand shit.'_

"Oh and your favorite song," Chloe adds excitedly.

That polite-but-irritated smile returns. "I'll start," Blondie says. "I'm Aubrey." Aubrey! That was her name. I've always been great with names, but I sort of didn't pay attention when she was first talking at auditions. "I'm a senior and I'm a great determined leader and a fantastic singer. I'm going to push you guys really hard, but we're going to be the best." She puts on her best smile with her pearly white teeth. Even her teeth have to be perfect. I roll my eyes. She must be such a bitch to hang out with. "My favorite song is The Sign by Ace of Base."

"I'm Chloe," the redhead takes over. "I'm also a senior and I absolutely love to sing. My favorite song is Titanium." She turns towards a brunette with heavy eyeliner, which I respect, and headphones around her neck. Chloe sends her a secret look that definitely screams flirtation.

"I'm Piper," speaks up the next girl. She's reasonably attractive, clearly privileged (you can tell from the way she holds herself). "This is my second year and I'm a great dancer and an even better planner. I love the song Milkshake by Kelis."

The introductions continue without any problem until we get to her. "Hi, I'm Quinn." She looks like an angel in her all white dress. "I'm a sophomore and I'm a singer but I can hold my own dancing. My favorite song is… ugh, it's such a hard choice," she looks away thoughtfully. I love the way she bites her lips whenever she's lost in thought. I can see a vein pulsing at its normal but rapid pace in her neck. It's mesmerizing. What if I just sped over there and sunk my teeth in her? I could do it. I could wipe everybody's memory. They'd never have to know. I bet she tastes so delicious – in more ways than one.

A hand placed upon my own pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance over at the pale hand and realize its Brittany. She must've seen my eyes darken to black with bloodlust. She's right. I need to stay in control.

"I guess I'd have to say Anna Sun by Walk the Moon," she says with a triumphant and decisive smile.

She can't…

"I'm Mercedes and…"

I tune out soon after. Her favorite song is Anna Sun.

It's not uncommon. Everyone knows Anna Sun. Everybody loves it. It's catchy and brilliant and the lyrics are absolutely beautiful. It's nothing overly unique but it has a good beat, an amazing tune, and this classic simplicity and haunting scene that makes it the masterpiece it is. A lot of people recognize that. A lot of people love it. It's not unusual.

"I'm Brittany S. Pierce, like the singer but don't get us confused and don't compare me to her." Everybody else is looking around confused as to who or what she's talking about. Sometimes I forget not everybody speaks Brittany. I'd chuckle at everybody's complete confusion if I weren't so taken by what Quinn said. "I'm a freshman and I can sing, but mostly I just love dancing. I'm in love with Straight into the Fire by Zedd."

Why did she say Anna Sun? Of all the songs she could've said and all the music. I'm sure there are other songs she's in love with.

I feel a light nudge between my ribs that startles me. Everybody's eyes are on me, expectantly. Why? What's going on? Nobody's speaking. Shit! I should be speaking. "Uh…" All I want to do is ask about Quinn's favorite song. "Santana." All I want to do is ask Quinn who she is today. "Freshman." I want to walk up to her right now and learn every little thing about her. "I can" I want to know what her favorite color is "sing" her favorite book "and rap" her mother and father's names "My favorite" what makes her smile "song" what makes her insecure "is" what she looks like moaning underneath me "Anna Sun" what I can do to make all her dreams come true "too" how I can make her happy.

For a moment I make eye contact with her. I can't resist. I know she will too. Her head shot up and her eyes widened ever so slightly with interest, maybe a little curiosity, at my statement. It's a natural human instinct that when you and a person have something in common interest peaks.

Her beautiful hazel eyes bore into me. She may not be meaning to, but that's how it feels. Looking at her is insane and intense and breathtaking. I wish I could pause that moment and see every emotion running through her eyes. People say that eyes are windows to the soul. Maybe if I stared long enough I could see into her soul. Maybe if I stared long enough I could find out her favorite color and her favorite book and what makes her smile or moan or cry. Maybe I could unlock her with more time.

But I don't have more time. All I have is that one curious, interested look before she turns to the next speaker. I have a snapshot of her beautiful, hazel eyes.

I zone out as people continue speaking. I can't muster up the energy to care about them. I have to focus, instead, on thinking about Quinn but not looking at her. I don't ever want to look at her. A snapshot isn't enough. If I look at her again I won't look away. So I stare at my feet or at Britt or whoever's speaking and I don't look at her even though every thought in my mind and bone in my body wants too.

Suddenly Aubrey, Chloe, a blonde whose name I didn't care to know, and the girl who I refused to look at (I could see her movement out of the corner of my eye) were getting up.

"What's happening?" I whisper to Brittany. Should I be getting up and doing something? I completely missed everything anyone said. Fuck.

"They're gonna perform and show us how it's done." She puts finger quotes around the words show us how it's done.

I sit back silently, still rigid.

And then, I hear it.

**Something always brings me back to you,**

I've always found voice to be one of the most attractive things in a person. Of course over the years Quinn's had many different voices. She's had the husk that, when she whispers dirty things in you ear, your panties become instantly wet. She's had that high tinkering laughter that brought out the sun and made you want to smile. All of them have been attractive. But this, this was different. Her voice now is tailor made for me.

**It never takes too long.**

To most people her voice would be simple. It's one of those voices everybody likes, but doesn't strike any particular nerve or excitement. If only they listened more closely. She's sweet and breathy (the things she could breathe into her ear) but there's more beneath it.

There's something a little darker underneath. She has the pure sweet innocent voice of an angel, except for that one little darkness. She draws upon it just enough to show, but never enough to dominate. It's this hidden power and passion where if she released it all at once she could rip you to shreds in a moment. She knows it too, which is why she only ever lets a little bit show at first. She releases it in the occasional drawl or the rasp every time she begins a new phrase that makes me want to take her right then and there.

**No matter what you say or do**

I do everything I can. I'm supposed to be one of the most powerful lamia in the world. I have the self-control of three lamias. And I still can't stop myself. I can't resist.

I look up at her.

And I know that looking away isn't an option.

I take in every mark and scar and movement visible to the eye.

**I'll still feel you here**

I take in her eyes that connect with mine for a split second before they continue roaming the audience.

**'til the moment I'm gone.**

The irony of the words isn't lost on me. Of course fate would have it she'd sing this song. She'd sing these exact words that remind me of exactly what kind of poison I am to her… and she to me.

Quinn doesn't sing again until she joins in with the others for the chorus.

**Set me free**

**Leave me be**

I'm trying to. That's all I want. You set me free a long time ago and I've been trying to set you free to. I want to leave you alone but I can't. I'm still here clinging onto you.

**I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity**

I think it's the other way around. I'm falling into your gravity. You're my sun and all I can do is revolve around you whether I like it or not.

Before I know it the song comes to a close.

**Something always brings me back to you.**

**It never takes too long.**

I can't be here anymore.

I stand up, send Britt a reassuring look and begin to walk out of the theater. The last words I here are Aubrey's shrill voice yelling at me to come back.

**Blood**

"Who broke your heart?" A husky voice breaks through the circle of silence I'd created around me.

"What makes you think I'm heartbroken," I respond, using the last bit of my energy on a snarky response.

"You're drinking at 2pm."

"Maybe I'm just an alcoholic or a deadbeat," I reply, turning my body to see the mysterious woman.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I'm here for the same reason you are," she says. She taps the bar, signaling the bartender. "I'm here to get absolutely intoxicated and forget about the guy who broke my heart."

"Cheers," I deadpan, lifting my drink in a sad effort.

The bartender appears to take her order.

"Vodka."

"Put it on my tab."

She raises an eyebrow. "Thanks, stranger."

I grunt in response, chugging the rest of my beer. I slam the glass on the counter, indicating my need for another round.

"I was just going to come here to lick my wounds and soak myself in cheap alcohol, but I didn't anticipate a very, very sexy woman like you being here. Maybe we could… comfort each other." She places a hand suggestively on my thigh.

My only response is a raised eyebrow.

She leans in closer as the bartender sets down her drink. "We can both get so intoxicated we can't walk straight and bemoan our broken hearts together and then I will inevitably walk into that bathroom. What happens after that is up to you."

"I'm not looking for any sort of rebound or straight-girl girlfriend," I reply.

"Neither am I," she says, pulling back with innocence. "I just want a good hard fuck. No names. No feelings. Just hot, drunk sex."

I lift my newly refilled drink to my lips.

**Life**

"oh! Oh! oH! OH!" She moans in my ear as I kiss my way down her jaw to her neck. It sounds wrong. It's not Quinn. Quinn would be breathier; her voice would be higher. Don't get me wrong, mystery woman is sexy, but she's not Quinn.

I barely even feel hot.

My hands trail down her stomach. I've learned from my many years of experience that, even when going for a quick, hard fuck in a bathroom, you have to take your time. Foreplay is key. It's what makes a girl forget her name, replaced in her memory only by yours.

"Baby, I need you to make me cum." The word baby leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It sounds wrong coming from her lips. Her lips look wrong. There's nothing wrong about them… except for the fact that they're not Quinn's. Quinn's are thinner, more delicate.

She runs her fingers through my hair and I try to imagine they're Quinn's. It's so much better when I just close my eyes and imagine its Quinn as my fingers sneak into her pants.

But then I take in a deep breath and the illusion is broken. She smells like vodka and expensive perfume. That faint smell of vanilla and lavender that I desperately crave is nowhere to be found.

I look down at her, brown hair flowing down her back. It reminds me of Quinn a few reincarnations ago, but it's not Quinn now. I don't flowing brown hair. I want short blonde hair that I can run and tangle my fingers through.

It doesn't feel right when I touch her. Usually, it's fine. Whenever Quinn's dead I do what it takes to survive and I fulfill my sex drive in whatever it needs. I'm not a stranger to enjoying sex with a stranger. But it's different. Quinn's alive and this just feels so wrong. I don't get the same tingle in my fingers and the zap in my chest every time I touch. My body is numbingly dead.

Who am I kidding? There was never an illusion to break? She's not Quinn and she never will be no matter how hard I imagine or wish.

She's already moaning on my fingers. I can't help but feel disgusted with myself. I lean in towards her neck and bare my fangs. The moment I penetrate her neck all thoughts and feelings go away. She is food and she is delicious.

She immediately pulls me closer, letting out a scream loud enough for the whole bar to hear as I suck that delicious A positive blood from her neck. I can feel her getting closer to her orgasm with every tug of my teeth.

She tastes so fucking delicious. I'm been starving to death. With Quinn around all the time my thirst has gone up and I finally have something to quench it. I need this. I need her right now.

I continue to suck on her neck as she finally comes undone around my fingers. I suck only for a couple moments more before pulling away from her neck. It's still hard to pull away, to leave her alive, when I could keep sucking her blood until she's drained dry. I've done it so many times that I know without a doubt I can do it, but the nagging feeling of my thirst still wants me to suck her dry. Every time I feed and leave them alive I'm sated, never full. I want to be full.

But I know I can't. So I pull away from her neck and lick it with my tongue, ending the blood flow. The two holes in her neck don't go away, but they will by tomorrow. My saliva will help heal them at a quicker rate than the average wound.

She's just barely pulling out of state of pleasure and delirium. "What? What did you do?" Her voice is woozy and still incredibly aroused. Her fingers reach to her neck, confused but also a bit worried.

I breathe steadily as I focus in on her mind.

_What's going on? Did she just bite me? Did she suck my blood? Oh god did I just fuck one of those weird vampire fanatics. And why did I find that so hot? It was weird… but I wish she'd do it again. I should leave before this gets even weirder. At least Daryl never tried this shit with me. Then again, maybe if he did we would've stayed together. He never could bring me to a proper orgasm. Fuck I need to get away from this freak._

I zero in on her thoughts and slowly begin weeding my way through them, joining my thoughts with hers until the mere suggestion influences her and she believes its her own thought.

"You had drunken sex. There was no biting. There was no bloodsucking," I say, planting the thought in her head. "There are no bites on your neck." She nods in response, her eyes blank. She's entirely under my control.

I love this feeling. Right after you've sucked someone's blood and you bring them under you control. It's beautiful and amazing and it makes you feel so powerful. It makes you feel like a god. Nobody could resist you. I could make her go and murder someone or I could make her buy me expensive jewelry (not that I'm interested). I could do anything I want with her and she couldn't stop me. It's one of my favorite things in the world.

It's what scares me about myself.

"You're going to go home and wear turtlenecks for the next 24 hours," I say, ignoring that small thought in the back of my head that begs I do something awful with her. "If you feel woozy, you'll go to the hospital and say you donated too much blood or fell down your stairs and lost a lot of blood." She nods again. "Leave."

Just like that, she leaves. I know that as soon as she walks out of this bar she'll shake her head with a blurry effect, get back in her car and continue like nothing ever happened.

I was never here.

**Love**

The moment I get to the dorm I pick up my phone.

Santana: Hey, where are you?

Britt: I'm at the studio. Why do you need me to come back home? I can be there in a jiff.

Santana: Nah. I was just wondering. How long you gonna be there?

Britt: Probably another 45 minutes. I'm working Mike right now. He's teaching me how to Pop 'n lock.

Santana: K. See you then.

I immediately turn my phone to do not disturb, throw it into its charger, and lock the door. Thank god she's going to be out.

I quickly strip myself of coat and shirt as I lie down on my bed, letting my hands wander over my body as I begin to imagine Quinn.

Suddenly, its not my hands anymore, it's hers roaming my body.

Her skin is soft, but her hands so strong as they cup my breasts. Her hair works as a curtain, falling over both our faces and protecting us from the outside world. Her lips press against mine as her thumb brushes over my nipple through my bra. Her left hand continues to cup my breasts as her right reaches around to undo my bra.

The moment my nipples are exposed to the cold air they harden, but she takes her time. She doesn't rush to touch them. Her hands ghost over them as her mouth begins to trail down from mine onto my jawline, my chin, and my neck. Her hands refuse to brush over my areolas again. I let out a groan of desperation as she kisses her way down my collarbone, getting closer with every touch.

As her mouth reaches my breast, her hand reaches my center. She drags them through my wetness and I feel like I'm going to die if she doesn't touch me exactly where I need her right now.

And then, she's inside of me and it feels glorious. I imagine the smell of her sweat mixing with mine, her hair dragging across my body, and the smell of lavender and vanilla pervading through the air.

I quickly cum around my own fingers.

As I remove my fingers from my burning core I feel a slight pang of sadness. It's not her. It's just me. And that's all it'll ever be anymore.

**The song is "Gravity" by Sara Bareilles.**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE MAGNIFICENT RESPONSE TO THE LAST CHAPTER**

**Shanelle, you're outline confused me a bit but if you PM me or re-review me with some sort of way to contact you I'd be happy to hear it more articulated to see if I can improve on my flashback outlining.**

**I had to copy-paste this so if there's something different in the format let me know, I'm curious.**


	10. Chapter 10: The Safety in The Storm

**Sorry about how long this took guys. I had so much trouble with this chapter. This does have a sex scene in it which was difficult for me to write since writing sex scenes isn't really in my element and it presented quite a challenge plus I kept switching which timeline I'd write about for this chapter based on connections.**

**Personal Life Note: Two days ago I turned 16!**

The Safety in The Storm

Pennsylvania, 1677

Anna (Santana) &amp; Dahlia (Quinn)

Dahlia P.O.V

The first book I remember being read to me was _Tattered Sails_ by Verla Kay. It was the story of Edward, Thomas, and Mary Jane and their parents travelling to the new world. I would make my parents read it to me once a week. They eventually grew to hate it from the amount of times they had to read it. When I grew old enough to read 'big girl books' on my own I picked up _Puritan Adventure_. I had picked it up because it had the word adventure in the title.

When I was 7 years old I would meet with my friend Sarah and we'd pretend we were going on epic adventures. We'd be swept away to the magical places of the world, some of which didn't even exist. Sometimes as we did our chores, repairing ripped blankets or preparing dinner, we'd talk and dream and imagine the craziest of adventures.

When I was 10 I learned girls weren't supposed to dream of having adventures. Leave the adventures and the ambition to the men. Women dream of good men. Women dream of stable men who don't have adventures, pragmatists. Dreaming of adventure, straying from what was expected, was dangerous.

Sarah started talking about a boy across the village named Tony. He was slated to become a blacksmith's apprentice because he was just that talented. Sarah started dreaming about all the things we were supposed to. She dreamed of being Tony's wife and settling down with two children. Soon, I became the only girl left with her head in the clouds dreaming of the kind of adventures written in books.

Then, there were none left. And I started looking at boys. I looked at girls too. I looked at girls the way boys looked at girls, but that wasn't acceptable. One night, I told Sarah. She backed away from me and told me the devil has snuck in and I needed to go to church and pray. A week later I told her I was normal and only desired boys. She crossed her heart, prayed, and accepted me with open arms. From then on I kept my mouth shut and my wandering eyes still.

I settled on a boy named John. He was a sweet, kind boy who was reasonably attractive. I wasn't attracted to him per se, but he was good looking. Most of the girls were focused on the bigger fish, the big men with big muscles going big places. John was just nice. He didn't have an adventurous mind, exactly, but he had an ambitious one. He had a desire to go to America. All he wanted to do there was bake bread and provide a good life for our potential children. He had big dreams and he was the closest I was ever going to get to my own adventure. So he courted me and I begged my father to say yes when he proposed. When we married I was 14.

John baked bread and I tended to my wifely duties. We had a kid, at age 16. We weren't living the rich life, but we made ends meet. We'd struggle a couple of months a year, but we made it. We made it until we could afford three tickets to America and we got on a boat with no regrets.

The boat ride was terrible and rocky and the baby hated it. I got seasick more than once. John and I would huddle around the bible, praying to God we made it on many nights when we were doubtful the ship would stay afloat, but we made it and god was it worth it. The new world people spoke of was more beautiful than any book that I could've imagined.

We had another two kids, Isabel (Isa for short) and Michael, before she arrived. I could tell the moment I saw her that she was the adventure I was looking for. She had the most beautiful, sleek black hair. She had it up in a hairnet made of silk. The best I had was a hairnet made of crepe. Silk was far too expensive. Despite her clearly wealthy monetary status she wore a plain dress with blue skirt and pink tinted top on top of a small corset. She had skin shades darker than most of the pale people of the town. I had imagined she was Native American. The thing that truly drew me into her though was her eyes. They looked like they'd seen the world and by god they had.

The first time we'd talked was at the market. I had been haggling with some guy completely overselling his fruits. She brought him down to a price lower than even I was bargaining for. I asked her to stick around longer under the guise of needing her great bartering skills. Honestly, I just wanted to get to know the curious woman more.

I told her all about my life with John and how life was here and I introduced her to my daughter Isa. She took to Isa instantly and vise versa. I commented that she must be new here or I would've recognized her. She responded that yes she was new to this town, but she'd been living here for a couple of years. She asked me all about the best places to visit in town and who were the good people in town. She told me about her life before here travelling down here from New Hampshire to Pennsylvania. I was completely enthralled by the story of her travels. It brought me back to my storybook days imagining adventure.

There was an instant connection between us and I started looking at her in that way I'd suppressed so well I had nearly forgotten it. I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn't seem to care as she kept telling me about her life and her travels and her. We decided to meet up later that week. She hugged Isa goodbye.

When we met up I ended up doing most of the talking. I showed her around my house and of my children's bedrooms and raved about them. She didn't seem annoyed for a minute. She later told me that the moment she met me she fell in love. I don't know how she bared sitting through my talk of family. Of course my family was important to me, but not for a moment was she ever jealous about it.

After awhile she began revealing more and more about herself. She was exactly who I'd wanted to be. She was the sort of man that they told me was dangerous when I was little. She had travelled the world and she never seemed to settle down. She'd seen India, China, Iran, and England. I often wondered how she'd seen it all in such a short lifetime. Now I understood why. She was the kind of person I'd wanted to be or wanted to be with ever since I was little.

Except I had a family now. I had a family I loved and a husband who was good to me and a calm, stable life. And she was a woman. I couldn't possibly be in a relationship of a romantic – or dare I dream a sexual nature – with a woman. It was against God's great book.

I always had valued books like _Tattered Sails_ above the Bible though.

So one day I followed my heart and I kissed her. I still remember the kiss vividly. It wasn't fireworks like everyone says they are. It felt the crashing waves of the ocean, the kind that had hit our boat travelling to the New World and we thought we weren't going to make it, but feeling stable in the middle of such a storm. I could hear blood pumping in my ears so loud I thought maybe a vein would burst or my heart would give out, but I knew it wouldn't because Anna would never let it happen. It was the dangerous, exhilarated feeling of reading a good book, but knowing that there was a layer of reality between the two of you, protecting you from the protagonist's perilous position.

But of course, no metaphor or simile could ever truly explain how it felt. I just knew that it felt right. Kissing Johnathan never felt like this. Kissing John was comforting and safe, but there was no danger or euphoria. He simply was.

I remember our first words coming out of that kiss. "Wow."

"I've been waiting forever to do that," she responded with a wolfish grin. And she dove towards me, pressing our lips together once again in that sweet serenity that made me feel perfect as her weight pushed me down to the floor. The world slipped away around us.

She was the first person I ever made love with. With Johnathan it was sex for the purpose of reproduction and out of obligation to our marriage. With Anna we made love. I caressed every part of her body, memorized every curve of her hips and freckle against her brown skin. She worshipped my pale skin and made me feel things I didn't even know were possible on the human spectrum of emotion. Ecstasy. Race didn't matter. Gender didn't matter. Sexuality didn't matter. She mattered and I mattered. Together we were the only things that mattered.

And that's how we continued on. We would meet in secret while John was at the bakery and the kids were away. I'd stop off at her house almost all of the time. Having her around my home was too risky if my children or John ever came home. Anna wasn't pleased with the arrangement, but we both knew our relationship would test the town in a terrible way. Worst case scenario: we'd be stoned to death for our sin. Best: we'd be ostracized and my children would be taken from me. It had to be kept secret. It wasn't ideal, but the two of us could overcome anything together.

Boy could we overcome anything.

It was over a year later from when we first met that she told me. She told me everything. She told me she was a vampire and that I was her soul mate and that she'd known me in previous lives and of our curse.

I didn't believe her at first, but she had quickly enough shown me proof when ran faster than any human possibly could and bared her fangs. It finally made sense how she'd lived in so many places and amassed such a fortune at such a young age. She'd been building it for about 300 years.

I ran out of that house as quickly as possible.

I knew I should tell someone, but my heart betrayed me – although looking at it now perhaps it protected me – and I couldn't find the strength in me to turn her in. I still loved her too much. How could I ever turn against my supposed soul mate? So I stayed quiet and I thought and thought and thought.

Thinking led me to do what I am doing right now.

"Dahlia?" she says with a confused but happy voice as she answered the door. It was only upon seeing her did I realize how much I had missed her. I had missed her smooth, low voice saying my name, saying anything really. I had missed seeing her eyes and being enveloped by her toned but muscular arms and seeing her beautiful smile.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm sorry for not speaking to you for so long, but I just needed time."

"I know," Anna replies understandingly. "There's no need to apologize. I'm surprised you came back at all without an army of pitchforks behind you."

"I'm not," I reply confidently. "I could never do that to you."

And a smile creeps out. It's only for a fraction of a second, like she dares not smile in case it frightens me away, but she smiles for that fraction of a second and I feel immediately reassured about my decision.

"You scare me Anna," I admit. Her entire face droops in a way that absolutely kills me. "You scare me because I'm so in love with you." Immediately her brown eyes meet mine with such tension the two of us could set this place on fire. "And loving someone means accepting everything that's so easy to love and accepting the things that are a little harder to wrap your head around." She looks at me with this sparkling hope in her eye. "And I love you Anna. No matter who or what you are. No matter who or what I must become to be with you."

"Really?" Her shining eyes, brighter than the brightest stars, draw me in and I know that I'll have no regrets making this decision.

"Really," I nod, a smile breaking out on my face. I can practically feel my body vibrating. The only thing that could stop this crackling energy from exploding is Anna's embrace. "I always said I wanted adventure," I chuckle with a shrug.

"To adventure!"

"To adventure!"

And I know that she could kill me right here right now. I'm defenseless. I'm alone. I'm an easy victim. I'd probably beg her to do it in my hazy state of her lips against mine, but I know she won't because no matter how dangerous, she's not dangerous to me. She's the only thing that makes me feel safe in this world.

**Blood**

The moment I moaned she took advantage of the opportunity, sliding her tongue into my mouth. By now she knew every part of my body intimately. We definitely had each other's mouths memorized, but it was still different every time. I immediately met my tongue with hers, not expecting to dominate her, but just to tease her, goad her. We both knew I'd be the one submitting. And soon enough I was.

With her victory she pinned my hands above my head for extra measure, leaving me helplessly squirming between her and the wall. I tried to buck my hips against her to get rid of this burning desire in me, but our outfits got in the way. It wasn't the first time I had cursed the corset. All Anna did was laugh. "Be thankful I'm not in my samurai armor," she giggles as her hands begin crawling down my body to undo my dress in its multiple spots, starting at my bustier. "Now that was a nightmare to get out of."

"You have armor?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Yea," she says nonchalantly, focused on undoing my outfit with expert speed and skill.

"Noted." She immediately looks up at me before smiling just as lecherously as I.

"God I love the way your mind thinks," she says with a smile. Eagerly, she uses her vampiric speed (of which I am now more accustomed) to undo the rest of my dress. It falls easily to the wayside, but still leaves a layer of undergarments and my slip. As she pulls them off, each new inch of revealed skin is kissed. Her lips are dangerously close to where I need them to be, causing me to lift off the wall.

"Stay still," she says. Suddenly, I can't move. I know she's used her influenced my mind. The first time she did it she of course asked for consent, but it was still shocking and scary to lose complete control like that, but now it barely matters. I know she'd never do anything truly against my will.

I can immediately feel my blood rush through my body at the thought of not being able to move, completely at her mercy. She looks at me through hooded eyes that I'm much assured match mine as she brings her lips against mine once again, her hands everywhere but nowhere against my body.

"You're too dressed," I say between our kiss.

"All in due time," she says, kissing her way down my neck to my collarbone. "Do you want me to release you?"

"N-no," I respond.

"Good answer." And her tongue grips onto my nipple and I wish for nothing more than to arch into her, but I can't. I can only stand there, the only show of my appreciation is the loud moan that escapes my lips. I glance down, watching as her tongue swirls around my areola. Her eyes meet mine as she does so and I can feel the wetness increase between my legs.

"God Anna!" I groan out as her right hand takes to the previously underappreciated breast.

"If you want," she says as she removes her lips from my breast, "you may remove my dress." Immediately I get motion back into my arms and I reach to quickly discard her dress and try to get my body as close as I can to hers. Our lips meet again, both hands palming my breasts, as mine clumsily undo the strings. I arch so far into her I'm afraid we may have become one. Not quickly enough, her dress falls to the floor and just as quickly I remove her undergarments. The moment I attempt to touch her glorious, full breasts that I can never quite cup in my hands (but am still making a valiant effort towards doing) she pins my hands above my head.

"You can look, but you can't touch. Not yet," she whispers in my ear, her tongue creeping out ever so slightly to lick the shell of my ear. In response I whimper pathetically.

I can smell her hair, always having the odd scent of chocolate for an unknown reason, when she's this close to me. I inhale like its my last breath.

She makes her way down my body, kissing and licking way down my chest and stomach right to the place I need her the most. "What do you want, Dahlia?" she asks.

"I-I want you," I reply hoping it'll be enough, but knowing that's now what she's looking for.

"You have me," she says. "What else do you want?" I can feel her breath ghosting over my clit.

"I want you to make me feel good," I say, still hoping to avoid using any obscenities.

"Okay," she says, kissing my inner thigh. "Does that make you feel good?"

"Yes," I pant back.

"Great, I guess I'll just keep doing this and only this," she replies getting closer to where I need her with every kiss.

"No," I reply. "I need you... I need you to do more than that."

"Really?" she responds with faux innocence. "What might that be?"

"I need you to… I need you to make me feel ecstasy. I need to feel your tongue against my…"

"Say it," she says. Her tongue pokes out ever so slightly, just barely touching my clit, but it's enough to flow out a whole new gush of juices. Still I refuse to say it. Instead, I do exactly what she instructed me not to do. I reach down and touch her, my hand gripping the back of her head to force her mouth against my hot, wet sex.

"There," I finally say, letting out a moan as her tongue finally meets my clit. I let out a moan as my hand keeps her tongue swirling beautifully around my clit. I swear I can see colors every time she does this. Every couple of swirls she'd mix it up, instead just setting her tongue firmly against it, applying the most euphoric and welcomed pressure. My clit can barely take the magnificent abuse, each swirl of her tongue bringing my closer and closer. Eventually my hand simply makes its way into her hair, too focused on just getting a good grip on anything.

Suddenly, her hands were on my thighs, crawling slowly, almost undetectably, towards the apex of my thighs. Suddenly her wet, delicious tongue is no longer against my clit, leaving it undesirably open and immediately hit with the cold of the air. I almost instantly forget about it though as her tongue slides through my folds in one long lick and her fingers take over at my clit. Her fingers began speeding up against the bundle of nerves as she began making her way back up.

Immediately her mouth latched onto my breast, bringing on a new state of ecstasy as her hand rubbed even harder against my clit, leaving me even more susceptible to her in every way. Too soon her mouth left my breast and rejoined with my mouth in a glorious way I do not regret. Caught up in the sweat, heat, and pleasure my fingers made their way down towards her her heat. I was caught nearly breathless at how wet she already was. With just a few more swift touches to her clit I knew she was plenty wet enough and slipped easily into her.

Her hand almost stopped against my pearl. "OH MY GOD DAHLIA!" She gasped against my lips. Two fingers enter me in return, her thumb still rubbing hard at my clit as I simply indulge in the beautiful feeling of her wet heat sucking me in and pulling me deeper with each thrust. I can immediately feel her fangs poke out, only spurring my motions onward. The added danger of her fangs only gets me hotter.

"Wait," she tells me, immediately detaching from my lips and pausing her movements as I pause mine. I can tell she's trying to control herself, retract her fangs. She's doing everything possible, taking deep breaths and closing her eyes and trying to block her mind. She's about to make a move to remove my fingers from her before I speak up.

"Anna," I say. Her eyes immediately move to mine. They're darker than I've ever seen her. They like primal, carnivorous. She could tear into me in seconds and I know there's very little holding her back. For the first time I recognize the danger… but still don't care. "I love you," I say beginning to thrust inside her again. She lets out a beautiful groan in response, her head tipping back and body moving with mine. "I trust you," I say, increasing my pace and beginning to move against her as well. "Whatever you have to do, do." I can hear the sound of my slamming against my fingers. "I'm ready." I begin curling my fingers inside her. We both know exactly what I'm saying. If she has to bite me and suck my blood she can. If she has to drain my dry and turn me, so be it.

It's just the sound of panting and screaming and incoherent words from then on in and I can feel Anna's fang biting into my shoulder ever-so-slightly, drawing no more blood than a paper cut. She immediately let's go, both with her fangs and body, as the two of us cum together in without any inhibitions. It makes me feel more alive than ever.

When I open my eyes her lip is bleeding profusely, clearly having bitten almost sadistically into it. The moment the two of us come down from our highs she pulls out of me and separates the two of us. "Do you know" pant "how stupid that was?" she screams.

"What?" I ask innocently, but we both know what she's talking about.

"You can't do that!" she yells. "We were both completely emotionally compromised and you invited me in. We've never even talked about it! That was so ridiculously dangerous! I could've fucking done it too!"

"We've talked about drinking blood," I respond. "If you have to, you do it."

"We both know you were offering more than that," she grows. "YOU WANTED ME TO TURN YOU!"

I immediately turn my head from her furious words, a blush heating my cheeks. Whether the blush was from the amazing sex we had or my embarrassment of this conversation I don't know. Probably a combination of both. "We both know it's going to happen," I argue quietly.

"Dahlia, we haven't even talked about it much less seriously considered it. You don't even know what that means! What would happen to you!"

"IT WOULD MEAN YOU AND I FOR ETERNITY! IT WOULD MEAN NEVER HAVING TO LEAVE YOU AGAIN OR DEAL WITH THAT STUPID REINCARNATION PROCESS AGAIN. IT WOULD MEAN NEVER HAVING TO LOSE YOU!" I explode, emotions already high and all over the place.

Anna silences, rubbing a hand tiredly against her forehead. "Please wipe that blood off of you," she motions towards the small cut she made in my shoulder. "It's ridiculously distracting." I nod, walking out of the room to grab a towel to pat it away.

As I walk back in the room, towel hopefully blocking any scent of blood as its pushed against my skin, I add, "You know, I meant every word. I want you to change me."

"You do?"

"I do."

**Life**

Being drained of all blood wasn't like I expected it to be. Anna had drunken my blood just once before and it was nice, pleasurable. Anna's doing her best to make it nice now, but honestly, having your blood completely drained from your body is a completely different experience than losing a pint or do.

I can feel myself dying. It's like this slow, terrible death that I unwittingly volunteered for. I can feel as my arms and legs lose all feeling and my brain begins to slow down. The pain as my lungs try desperately for air, but don't have enough anything in their system to keep functioning. My body is shutting down. My arms feel like they're on fire. I know I shouldn't be fighting Anna off, but now it's my body's instinct to try and move, to try and get away from this impending doom, but I can barely even move my arms. Every nerve in my body is on standing at attention and burning through me. There's no pain that felt quite as bad as actually dying.

My brain is slowing down even more. I can barely get a coherent thought out. I glance at Anna, looking for some sort of security, but all I see is a beast taking her place. She's the monster sucking me dry, thirsty and desperate for everything I have to offer. The only reminder I have that she is my Anna is the one tear dripping from her eye.

The more and longer she sucks the harder it gets. I can't breathe anymore. She warned me this would happen. I shouldn't panic. I have to die in order to be undead. Except I'm fucking panicking. It's absolutely terrible to die. It's absolutely terrible to claw for breath, feeling, any form of life except you're already so dead you can no longer even claw.

The last thing I heard wasn't Anna comforting me with beautiful words or her sweet touch soothing me. I felt her sucking and sucking and sucking more life out of me. She no longer felt safe. She wasn't the anchor anymore. She was the storm itself coming to take me down.

The last thing I felt was the this completely out-of-body-yet-in-body experience where I could feel everything. I could feel every microscopic measurement of pain from my pinky toe to the widows peak on my head. My body was being ripped apart, imploded from the inside. My last moment was excruciating pain.

Santana's POV

She died. She actually died. She didn't come back to life. It's not completely unheard of. Not every human has the physical or sometimes emotional strength to withstand the change. Sometimes it's too much and the human dies for good. But Dahlia had always been so strong. I never imagined she'd not survive.

I should've known.

**Hope you enjoyed! Because you guys waited so long for this chapter (this was a long amount for my summer updating schedule at least) I'm going to update the next chapter really, really soon (three days at most).**

**Oh yeah, Connection: The Connection between this and last chapter was first the blood sucking and sex differences.**

**Are you guys interested in Brittany meeting her soul mate? I wasn't planning on it, but I figured I'd take a poll for this sort of thing. It wouldn't be a major plotline. Do you want Britt to meet her soul mate? And if so, who? Remember that an original character is an option.**


	11. Chapter 11: Yin & Yang

**So, I realized that the way I left last chapter left it very open to the point where Quinn actually could've lived. So I fixed it and I went back and added a couple lines to clarify. In case you missed them, here's what they were:**

Santana's POV

She died. She actually died. She didn't come back to life. It's not completely unheard of. Not every human has the physical or sometimes emotional strength to withstand the change. Sometimes it's too much and the human dies for good. But Dahlia had always been so strong. I never imagined she'd not survive.

I should've known.

I told you I'd get this next chapter out to you guys ridiculously quickly because of the amount of time it took for me to update the last one! I was true to my word :)

**Recap: Santana goes to her first Bella's practice, determined to make it work. Santana can't seem to keep her mind off of Quinn, especially when she realizes they both share the same favorite song. After a performance that sends Santana reeling in more way than one she runs out halfway through practice and goes to a bar where she hooks up with a no-name woman to overcome heartbreak. Unfortunately, she's not Quinn and Santana's not able to get off or even particularly aroused.**

Yin &amp; Yang

Quinn's POV

When I first see her raven hair I don't think too much of it. Ever since she ran out I've been searching for her, which means that for the past 24 hours every head of long, black hair I see automatically makes me think its her. I figure that this is just another overreaction or hopeful thought from my mind.

I continue walking towards my intended destination, a secluded study area where Rachel is waiting, but then I hear a laugh. It's better categorized a chuckle rather than a laugh. It wasn't one of those softer, more serene laughs. It came from deep within her chest. You could hear that she was trying to hide it, tame it, but the laugh was stronger than she was. It was magnetizing.

I turn my head to the reasonably busy expanse of grass, wondering where the laugh came from. I immediately recognize that it will be impossible to identify the mysterious laugher without her laughing again. Thankfully, she does.

And that's what brings my eye back to the girl with the raven hair, sitting alone but not lonely, under one of the many oak trees. Curious as to who it is, I take a couple steps closer only to realize it was just the girl I was looking for.

I approach the infuriating girl, feeling irrationally angry at her for deceiving me with her intoxicating laugh when I can't stand every other thing about her (her voice being the only other exception).

She seems to notice my presence once I'm a few steps away. She glances upwards and makes direct eye contact with me before putting her head back down. She can't even be bothered to remove her earphones when I'm very clearly making my way towards her! If she didn't have such a good voice I certainly wouldn't tolerate this.

"Santana," I huff, now standing over her. Inwardly, I smile at the fact that I cast a shadow over her right now.

She looks up, slightly irked but mostly just curious. "Hey Q," she replies lazily. She slides her headphones off her ears slowly.

"My friends call me Q. You can call me Quinn," I reply harshly. I know that I should be making a better relationship with her, but she started it. I'm just finishing it. First she insults my writing, then she transfers out of the class before I can even retaliate. I think I've washed my hands of her and she shows up in MY Bella's rehearsal, then she runs out. She's a serial quitter.

"Whatever, Quinn." She puts an extra emphasis on my name. For a moment, I thank god that I went through my terrible downfall in high school. It taught me to be ignore people just like I'm ignoring her searing glare.

"Why did you run out of practice yesterday? Bailing again on the first day? What, you didn't realize that it'd actually be work?"

"I had… a personal matter to attend to," she responds unsure. I find it interesting to watch her so uneasy. She always seems to have this composed manner about her that I'd only seen break twice - once in the elevator right before she apologized and when she ran out of Bella's practice.

I know I shouldn't challenge her right now, not when seeing her so off-guard is such a rare sight, but I can't seem to help it. "A personal matter?" The sound of doubt seeps through my words.

"Yes. A personal matter," she snips back, closing back into that cold, abrasive girl once again. "It's personal for a reason."

I immediately regret questioning her.

"So… will you continue coming to The Bella's then?" I ask, calming down. I'm not going to completely abandon oppugnancy for that would be equivalent to an admittance that I was in the wrong AND an apology, but I do tone it down.

"Yes," she says curtly.

"In that case don't go to the auditorium for Bella's practice next time."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to meet there and because you get flaked out of practice I get to choose where we meet," I argue, knowing that I'm definitely right this time.

"I didn't think Aubrey would give up control on anything," she says, almost impressed. "I'll meet you guys there." She begins to turn back towards the notebook in her lap before I stop her.

"Wait, Aubrey's not joining us," I say, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

She looks up, surprised. "What? Why?"

"Didn't Brittany tell you?" I'm a little surprised that the overly enthusiastic blonde didn't tell her, either via text or in person.

"I haven't seen Brittany since yesterday. Tell me what."

I sigh. This is what I get for having a partner who ditches rehearsal. "Aubrey and Chloe figured that you newbies should be given a chance to learn the ropes so they partnered each newbie with a senior to perform a song. I just happened to have the great luck of getting you as my partner," I say sarcastically.

"Fuck," I hear her whisper under her breath.

I know that we're not exactly besties, but saying that to my face in reaction of this news is really, really rude.

"I see you're just as pleased as I am," I reply. "Anyways, we're all performing three practices from now. Until then we're split up to work together in our individual pairings and another group already claimed the auditorium during those time slots."

She glances back up at me and for the first time I see a tiredness in her eyes. "Where do you want to meet?" It's weird to see her giving up like this. She's not fighting me anymore. It throws me off guard.

"Uh… there's this out of the way dance studio way in the basement in the Arts Building," I suggest. "Nobody's ever there because it's pretty worn down."

"Cool. Do you have any song your heart is set on?"

"Not really." Now that we're not antagonizing each other anymore I don't know what to do. I can feel my natural nerves and insecurity begin to take over.

"That's fine we can figure it out when we meet up. When do you want that to be?"

"Uh… when are you free?" I begin shifting my weight back and forth. I know it clearly shows my nervous tendency, but I can't help it.

"How 'bout tomorrow at like five?"

"I actually have a class until 5:30, but I can get there around 6:15," I offer up.

"That sounds fine," she says, emotionless.

"Okay."

"Okay."

And just like that she puts her headphones on, goes back to work, and I walk away towards Rachel and a study session.

**Blood**

"Rach! Q! 'Cedes!" An overly terrified Chloe comes bursting through the door like she's just been chased by something out of a horror film. Immediately the four of us look up from our books and end the academic conversation to hear what had just happened to Chloe.

"Chloe, what happened?" Rachel immediately stands up, pushing back her chair to rush over as quickly as possible to the redhead. "Are you hurt?" She begins patting the ball of sunshine over looking for bruises or injuries.

I don't get out of my chair, but I'm ready to pounce up and call 911 if needed. Rod, the guy next to me from my law class, looks up curiously but horribly confused as to who this is, what she wants, and why in the world she intruded. Mercedes simply sits calmly, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

"It's Beca!"

I hear Mercedes let out an exasperated sigh as if this is precisely what she expected. "All you white girls be crazy," she mutters.

Rod just looks even more confused.

Rachel, ever the mother, leads Chloe over to a chair and sits her down. She looks like she's about to start hyperventilating or maybe have a heart attack. If it comes to that, most of the med students tend to study just a couple rooms away. "What happened?" Rachel asks soothingly.

"She… she has a date!" Chloe is fanning herself with two hands just trying to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry, but what are we talking about?" Rod interjects.

Chloe immediately glares at him, forcing him into subordination.

"Okay," Mercedes says. "Come on, tell Aunt 'Cedes all your problems," she says, making a motion for Chloe to 'lay it all on her.'

"Well I was talking when she mentioned that she has a date with this guy named Jesse. He was one of the boys who auditioned for the Trebles." She looks down forlornly, letting out an overdramatic cry. No wonder one of the things she's double-minoring in is acting. "What if she becomes exclusive with this guy? She laughed when she talked about him! Laughed. Beca Mitchell! Are we over?"

"Girl, you need to slow the hell down," Mercedes interjects before Chloe's meltdown can continue. "1) You and Beca aren't exclusive, right?" Chloe nods. "In that case, this could just be a non-exclusive date so you're not out of the picture. 2) They haven't even gone on a date yet. I think you're overreacting. 3) You guys were never together so you can't be over. 4) This is Beca's choice and if she loves you she'll choose you in the end."

Chloe seems to mull over Mercedes' words for a while. They make a lot of sense. "I suppose you're right."

Mercedes tips back in her chair proudly. "Girl, I know I'm right."

Chloe begins chewing her lip and that's how I know this isn't over. "Still… it couldn't hurt to make sure she chooses correctly, right?" She looks at Rachel, Mercedes, even Rod, and I weakly.

"I already said my piece. If you do anything else, I'm not getting involved," Mercedes says.

"If you two were finally official, without all these ridiculous unaddressed tensions I imagine the Bella's would benefit," Rachel muses. I roll my eyes. Rachel's mind is forever on the advancement of career.

"Did you stop to consider what will happen if we intervene and Beca finds out or if, god forbid, Beca and Jesse ought to be together?" I feel terrible playing devil's advocate.

Chloe immediately slaps my arm. Hard. "I'm supposed to be with Beca. I can feel it."

Rachel stays silent a while longer, weighing the pros and cons. After about a minute she finally voices her stance. "I'll help with whatever you need, Chloe." I can sense the eye roll that must be coming off of Mercedes.

Chloe glances over to me with those puppy dog eyes I've always been weak to. "Fine," I agree begrudgingly. "I'll help."

Chloe squeals with joy.

"Me too!" Rod adds with passion.

**Life**

"I'm SO sorry I'm late," I say, pouring my book bag carelessly by the studio door. I immediately stop in my tracks, caught by surprise by her beauty. Santana looks up from her bent over position, arms outstretched to touch her left foot which is balancing steadily on the ballet bar. The inherent sexuality in her movements, although not intentional on her part, is not lost on me.

"Yet you managed to grab a coffee?" It's not a judgment, so much a simple tease.

"Yes, well, I didn't want to be dead for our rehearsal," I reply.

"What kind is it?" she asks.

"Mocha cappuccino."

She nods.

"If the time was no longer convenient, you could've just texted me and said so," she says in a surprisingly courteous gesture.

"Slight problem with that. I don't have your number," I reply with the same teasing she had in her voice only moments ago. I like this. Arguing with her certainly revs me up, adds a certain spice and interest to my life, but by the end it just leaves me tired and out of states. Argumentative isn't a state I'm used to. But I like this. I like the teasing. It's a nice balance. I hope that the nature of our relationship stays like this.

"Oh," she says. She shoots me a slightly embarrassed smile. "I guess I should fix that now that we're partners and all." She pulls away from the bar and grabs my phone out of my hand. Once my fingerprint unlocks it she quickly adds in her number. "There."

Hesitantly, I reply with a statement I hadn't expected to ever tell her as I accept my phone back. "I wouldn't have cancelled anyways. I've been… looking forward to this." Immediately my head dips down, not ready to meet her eyes.

Finally, curiosity gets the best of me and I'm forced to face her. When I do a cocky smile and even cockier raised eyebrow awaits me. "I knew my irresistible charm would wear you down."

"Shut up," I reply. I try to make the smile disappear from my face, but it just won't go away.

Why can't she always be like this? Why must she instead be this emotionally inconsistent girl who, some days, is my enemy and others my friend? I can't seem to pin her down. I'm not asking for her to only have one emotion or completely lose all of her complexities. That, in fact, would be more disappointing than her current state of ever-changing personality. It, at least, makes her interesting. I'm just asking for some sort of consistency or at least a glowing neon sign that'll tell me when she's feeling like ripping my head off or when she feels like carrying my boxes to my dorm room.

"So, I guess we should start with song choice?" she suggests.

"Yeah, I came up with a couple of options," I say. I reach into my back pocket for a scrunched up piece of paper.

"Huh," Santana says. "You never struck me as disorganized." She points to the crumpled piece of paper.

"A bunched up piece of paper doesn't mean I'm disorganized," I defend, dropping to the floor.

She shrugs.

I quickly smooth out the paper against the floor. "Anyways," I say, mildly perturbed. "Here's the list."

She grabs the piece of paper and joins me, cross legged, on the floor. "Empire State of Mind by Alicia Keys and Jay Z. Absolute classic," she says with a smile.

"I was trying to capitalize on what you said about being able to rap," I reply with a smile. "But, of course, you'll actually have to back up that claim with skill." I smirk.

She sneers back playfully, insulted that I would dare question her abilities. "Smile by Mikky Ekko, Youth by Daughter," she continues to list. "No Air by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown, woah you're going really old school," she comments.

"If 2007 is your idea of old school I dread you musical knowledge of the greats."

"I think you'd be surprised by my knowledge," she says with a smile and a mysterious twinkle in her eyes that I don't think I'm supposed to understand.

"Don't Go Breaking My Heart by Elton and KiKi. Not old school, just timeless," she says.

"Crazy in Love by Jay Z and Beyonce," she says. "I see we have a Jay-Z fan here. We might be friends yet, Quinn."

"Actually, I'm actually not a big fan of rap," I correct. "I just love Alicia and Beyonce."

Santana lets out a dramatic groan of disgust. "And here I thought we were finally finding some final ground!"

"Sorry," I shrug.

"And, finally, The Last Time By Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran." She pauses for a moment, looking over the list again.

"As you can see a lot of the songs on the list are duets. We don't have to do a duet of course, but I figured it's sort of a rare opportunity and when in Rome…"

"The duets are fine," Santana says distractedly deciding.

"I was trying to think what would best suit our individual talents but what would also combine us musically. Obviously in the rap songs you'd be the Jay Z, but since I see you as more of a Mezzo-Soprano and I'm more of a Mezzo you'd probably be more likely to take the female voice in other songs."

"Quinn," Santana interrupts.

"Yeah?"

"Stop babbling."

Immediately I obey her request as she looks over the list. "These are all really great songs. I came with a few prepared as well, but I don't like them nearly as much as your list." I nod. "I think my top three are Crazy in Love, Don't Go Breaking My Heart, and The Last Time. I think Crazy would be really unique, but I don't know if it suits the way we work. Don't Go Breaking My Heart would be really good to dance to and it's a classic, and then I think The Last Time would just be really interesting to do, it's a good way to test out chemistry and I can already picture a really cool dance number to go with it.

"Okay," I say. "In that case I say we cross out Crazy In Love and keep it between Breaking and The Last Time," I suggest.

"Agreed."

And for the first time Santana and I actually got along and got something done. We agreed on The Last Time rather quickly. Santana laid out both her ideas for Don't Go Breaking My Heart and The Last Time and the latter was better. Plus, I realized I could easily contribute some background because of my ability to play piano and the song was certainly a piano song. We agreed that I'd take the verses that were originally sung by Gary Lightbody and she'd sing the parts sung by Taylor Swift.

"So, are you ready to give it a test run? See what we need to fix and what's working?" she asks logically.

"Yeah, definitely."

Everything is fine when I start out the song, all the way through the first verse. The two of us are just standing there, not quite looking at each other but not quite looking away, and I'm singing. It's comfortable.

And then she joins in with that velvety smooth, strong voice of hers and suddenly its not comfortable anymore. Hearing her voice is… enlightening. It's like I've been seeing my life through washed out sepia tones and for the first time I'm seeing everything in color. I forgot how… humbling and awe-inspiring it is to hear her sing.

When the two of us harmonized I found legitimate shivers running throughout my entire body. It was like our voices were made to go together. Her voice, so strong you could be in the back row of the audience but you'd still feel gripped by her, compliments my lighter one perfectly. Ying and Yang. Neither of us seem to overpower the other. When we sing together everything in the universe makes sense. It's an effortless duet.

I barely know what I'm singing anymore. Thankfully, my subconscious recognizes that its time for me to stop. I couldn't be more thankful. It's just another excuse to hear her raspy voice purely, no distractions.

By the time we finish practicing I'm absolutely convinced that Santana is my musical soul mate and I thank whatever force or God paired us together.

Santana walks out first, but courteously waits and holds the door for me. On our way out, my mind too preoccupied with the magic feeling still floating through my head in the form of music notes to notice, my hand brushes against hers.

And I don't know if I made it up or not, but I could've sworn there had been sparks.

**Love**

"That's him," Rod says, openly pointing to the brunette in line with the slicked back hair staring down, slightly bored, at his cell phone.

"Put that down!" I hiss as I slap his hand down. I have to physically stop myself from grinding my teeth together. Rod's a really nice guy who lets me borrow his notes for law class when I need them, but he's not exactly the king of subtlety.

"Thanks Rod," I say absent-mindedly, already keying in on my target.

"Hi," I say brightly, approaching the man in line. He looks up, startled and a bit confused as to why I'm talking to him.

"Hi? Do I know you?" He turns off his cellphone and slips it into his back pocket.

"You don't, but I'm a good friend of Beca's," I say coolly. I send him my best smile.

"Oh, okay," he says, immediately relaxing. He returns a relaxed smile; the kind you imagine on the face of a definition nice-guy. There's not even a vague show of suspicion. I feel a pang of guilt for a moment. "What's up?"

"Becs," I use a cutesy nickname to further authenticate myself, "wanted me to tell you that something popped up and she can't actually meet you for dinner tonight."

"Oh, is everything alright?" He asks with genuine concern written all over his face.

"Yeah, everything's fine," I play off easily. I wonder if he can easily see through me. "She just got really into this mix she's making and, well, you know how she crazy she gets about those. She practically locks herself in her room and doesn't eat, sleep, or drink until its done," I say with joking ease. Well, at least that was the truth.

"Right," Jessed replied, a shadow of worry over his face. And of course his worry made me worry. "Is… is this her way of blowing me off? Does she just not want to meet me anymore because if that's the case I'd really just prefer for you to be straight with me."

I falter. The guilt in me grows. "Honestly," I put on my most sympathetic face, "It is. You're just a really nice guy. She couldn't face you and say it."

"Fucking coward. Doesn't even have the decency to…" he curses under his breath. He turns back to me and I almost want to cry for him. He's so upset and angry about this. He looks like he's on the verge of tears. "Look, uh, thank you for telling me the truth."

"You're welcome," I say, feeling lousy.

And just like that I walk away. No consequences for me and one of my best friends gets another chance with the love of her life.

God I fucking hate Chloe and her stupid puppy dog eyes.

As soon as I sit back down next to Rod I sent Chloe a text:

**To Chloe:** Lied to Jesse and told him about Beca cancelling the date. It went better than expected. He asked if this was just her way of blowing him off – admittedly, something Beca would do – and I told him yes so he's completely out of the picture now.

**From Chloe:** The plan went off with a hitch + more! Thanks so much Q! I owe you (and Rod)! Imma get that ass now ;)

**Blood**

I've always been a really good dancer. It's just come naturally to me. I can twerk with the best of them (although I don't particularly have the ass for it) or perform in a Beyoncé video. Rachel's boyfriend, although he has two left feet, is really good with arms and he even showed me a couple moves to pop and lock. But I've never ballroom danced and I'm very, very nervous to start.

"Hey, Q, are you okay? You seem kind of nervous." Some days it feels like she can read my mind.

"No. It's fine," I brush her off. No need to let her know about my complete inexperience and completely possible possibility that I will fuck this up and be deemed unfit for ballroom. We'll have to rework our entire routine.

"You're a natural," Santana says. "I've seen you on stage. You're a dancer. Ballroom dancing isn't that hard and, honestly, it's a mix of ballroom and contemporary. The moves may seem daunting but they're really simple once you get the hang of them. Plus, I'll be doing all of the complicated moves and grunt work." She sends me a confident smile. I don't know how she does it, but in only a moment she's calmed all of my fears.

I don't say anything, not quite ready to admit my fear, but we both know there's a silent thank you wandering through the silence. It only takes a few more minutes for me to lace up my shoes, take a drink of water to calm my throat now a bit dry from singing for half an hour, and for her to put her hair up before the two of us are on the floor and ready to begin choreographing our routine.

"Did you get Rachel to agree?" she asks before we begin.

"Yeah, she said she'd be happy to fill in and play piano for me when we're dancing."

"Perfect." The two of us walk over the left hand corner of the room away from the wall-to-wall mirror, approximately where the piano will actually be when we perform. "Okay, so during the first verse you'll just be sitting playing the piano and when you say 'open your eyes into mine' you'll turn towards me. Then, at the end of the first verse I'll pull offer you my hand, which you'll take, and I'll pull us onto stage as if… as if there were an invisible magnetic connection between us." I notice her gulp nervously.

I nod. Simple enough.

"You'll put your arms around me like this." She moves to position my arms. She moves my left hand to her shoulder and for a moment I touch the cool of her skin. It mixes with the burning heat of mine in the most curious way. Yin and Yang. She grips my left right hand in her left and places her left on my waist.

I wonder for a moment how this must look. We're too girl's ballroom dancing together. Do we look like we're gay? I'm not a homophobe. Chloe, Piper, and Beca are all on the Kinsey Scale of gay and they're my best friends. But still, the thought pops into my head before I can stop it and suddenly I feel a tinge of worry.

It disappears when Santana starts talking. Maybe it goes away because it's a distraction or maybe because I just feel so comfortable with her that of course friends do this or maybe I just don't care anymore. Maybe I wouldn't mind being with Santana.

Of course, I'm not and have no interest in being so (we just barely qualify as friends, let's not push into actual romantic relationship territory) but it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"I'll lead. It's only a couple steps. You just have to follow. Her back is facing the mirror, our imaginary stage, and she begins leading me right. It really is easy, just simple steps. It's not even that many, just three or four. The two of us sing to the steps. She stops to speak, "And then right on the word eyes I'll pull you in close like this," she pulls me in so we're face-to-face and chest-to-chest. I can smell the mint of her gum and wonder if she can smell my breath to. Thank god I chewed gum before I got here. "And after a brief second, we'll pull away, right when we say I'm breaking. I'll go downstage and you go upstage."

"Wow, that's really cool," I comment, impressed with the amount of effort she put into making the moves match up with the song's lyrics.

"Thanks, I try," she says with a cocky wink that just makes me roll my eyes.

"Then on no past we'll both sneak looks at each other and then run, as if we were irresistible to each other and-"

"Are you saying I'm not irresistible?" I challenge with a raise of my eyebrow and a teasing smile.

"Quite the contrary," she replies. "You might, in fact, be too irresistible," she emphasizes her last words by taking my hand and spinning me in towards her. I can feel the breath leave my lungs. I can promise that the tension in that room was palpable. Subconsciously, my eyes flicked to her lips. "And then we'll join together like this," she says with darkened eyes. "And then I'll step back backwards once." I follow her lead, but I barely know what I'm doing. I'm too busy staring into her eyes, wondering what's behind them.

"Yo, San," I hear a voice interrupt. Suddenly, the magic, the tension, the fire, the connection, all of it is gone. Puckerman, with that stupid smile and cocky grin, enters. "Damn girls, why didn't you invite me to the show earlier," he says, eyeing us like were pieces of meat.

Santana practically jumps away from me like I have the plague. Of course, it's not like I don't do the same. I can feel disgust towards Puckerman wash through me. I'm not a porn fantasy for the minds of voyeurs and I'm not going to let him enjoy that satisfaction.

"Puck, what the fuck. I told you in an hour." She glances up at the clock. "It's only been forty-five minutes."

"Yeah, but fuck that. I'm glad as hell that I came and got to witness that. You could…" he frowns for a moment, obviously trying to think of something intelligent to finish off that sentence with, but nothing came. "You could do a whole lot of something with that tension."

I scowl, which only earns me a wink from the offending party.

"You interrupted our practice," I grill harshly.

He completely ignores my words, instead turning to Santana. "I know I came early, but I was feeling hungry. Like, really hungry," he says the last words with emphasis and shoots her a look, but I can't tell what it is.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh, "Yeah, okay. Whatever. Let's get going."

"Santana! We still have fifteen minutes of practice!" I insist. I can't keep working with someone whose so eager to just blow off practices and cares more about her social life and grabbing a bite than she does about an extracurricular she chose to sign up for.

"It's fine," she says. "I've got to go. It's only fifteen minutes. We can meet up again a day from now, okay?"

"No this is not okay!"

"See you later, blondie!" She struts out the door with Puckerman, having packed up her things in record time.

"UGH!" Just when we were getting somewhere – both in the rehearsal and in our potential friendship – she abandons me! How like her! It was foolish of me to think she was anything else but selfish.

**Life**

"Beca found out!" Chloe cries, banging through to Rachel and mine's dorm, Aubrey closely on her tail. I keep telling Rachel she needs to remember to lock the door.

"What?" Rachel asks, removing thick headphones from her ears.

"Beca! She found out! Why did you let me do this! Why did you come up with plan?" she asks, turning accusingly toward Rachel. "And you," she turns her attention towards me, "Why did you go through with it?"

"Hey, you were the one who wanted our help scheming," Rachel points (literally) out, never one to take the blame (although this time it definitely wasn't all on her).

"SHE DUMPED ME!"  
"She dumped you?"

"This is going to be a mess for the Bella's!" Aubrey mumbles as she comfortingly strokes Chloe's arm and lets the redhead lean on her shoulder.

"And it wasn't just that she dumped me! She dumped me as a fuckbuddy and a friend!"

"What!" Both Rachel and I say in surprise.

"She said that she couldn't have somebody like me in her life. It wasn't good for her. She yelled at me!" Chloe begins sobbing, letting flow the rivers of the world through her eyes.

"Oh, sweetie," I say as I go to hug her. She accepts all of our embraces. "I promise; we'll find a way to fix this."

"How?" Chloe whines despondently.

"We'll come up with something," Rachel assures.

Holding Chloe in my embrace, the wheels in my head begin turning. "Does Jesse have any former girlfriends?"

"What? Why?" Chloe asks, looking up at me through tear stained eyes.

"It doesn't matter. We can just make them up anyways. I have an idea!"

**Love**

Santana's POV

As soon as we were out of earshot, Gabriel, sorry Puck, begins vomiting up apologies. "I'm sorry about that. I know you said an hour, but I've been waiting for you and this really delicious blonde, tits so big three guys could motorboat her at once and as ass that belongs on a black girl, walked by and I just got really hungry, but I let her walk away so I REALLY need to feed," Puck says.

I roll my eyes. Why do I keep this idiot around? "It's fine, Puck," I say. "You probably just saved me from a disaster too," I say.

"Oh, you mean that thing with Quinn? Yeah, I'm sorry about cock blocking you in there. Her aura was so high man!" He sends me a congratulatory smile and pat on the back, "What were you doing in there."

Puck, being an incubus, feeds off of sexual energy and more specifically sex. That's how he eats. A special feature he gets, other than the ability to sexually manipulate and seduce people, is that he can read sexual auras. I don't precisely know how it works, but apparently he can tell anyone's state of arousal just by looking at them.

And the confirmation of Quinn's state of high arousal (I couldn't just try my nose smelling her pheromones) only sent me reeling and picturing dirty thoughts about her that I couldn't be having. "No it's fine. I'm glad you did. And don't tell me about her aura okay?"  
"What? Why?" he asks. He looks like he'd just seen the fucking devil with that question. "You always ask for a confirmation reading on people's aura's before feeding on them when we go out on the town."

"Yeah, well, I don't want hers."

"Why not? What's different about her?"

"I'm just… not interested," I lie. "I don't want to hear about hopes I'm getting up for nothing. Makes me feel guilty, bro." I shoot him a false smile that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Puck's such an old friend of mine. I just don't feel like explaining my entire, complicated history with her tonight. "Look, let's just get wasted as fuck, or as wasted as we can get, and find some hot people to fuck and feed. Okay?"

"Hells yeah, bro!" Our hands meet with the loud sound of an enthusiastic high five.

A casual, distracting feed and fuck; just what the doctor ordered.

**I know that Beca/Chloe was very, very heavy in this chapter but I swear their storyline isn't for too much longer for those who don't like it. It's mostly here to show Quinn's more manipulative side plus I love Bechloe/Bloe.**


	12. Chapter 12: Influential Minds

**Firstly, let me apologize for anything that might feel racist throughout this.**

**Also, I'm sorry to erase Naya's mostly Puerto-Rican background, although I've looked it up and she's ¼ African so, I mean, I didn't heavily erase her heritage, just played around with the ratios.**

**Also, so one person said they didn't much care for finding out about Brittany's soul mate and another asked who it is. These are the only responses I've gotten on it. To the person who asked who it is my answer would be I don't know. If you want her to have one, vote.**

Influential Minds

New York, 1840

Colby (Santana) &amp; Selina (Quinn)

It begins the same every day. Wake up in the morning, throw some water on my face from the previous day. Walk into the kitchen and grab some blood from the icebox (praise the people who invented blood drives and iceboxes) and throw about a pint into the kettle and begin heating up. I never heat it for more than a couple minutes. Warm blood is the best kind. Boiling is disgusting. Cold blood isn't not bad; it's not great.

Once the blood has been nicely heated I pour it into a mug, pick up whatever book I'm reading, and travel outside to my porch. Currently I'm reading _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ by Victor Hugo. I rather like it. It's disturbingly dark, playing with Frollo's so-called piety and personal darkness. Things aren't looking particularly bright for the manipulated Quasimodo either. It's a pretty good read. It just sucks that the most relatable character for me is Frollo.

Just as I'm about to turn the page a voice calls out, "Hello Miss!" A breeze flies by me carrying a mouth-watering scent that I recognize almost instantly. It's the smell of vanilla and lavender. I know it has to be a person 1) because there's no lavender around here 2) because any lamia knows when its their mate. They just know.

As she gets closer I'm able to see her better. She has hair so blonde it could almost be considered white and skin paler than that actually expected of a lamia. She has on a lipstick the color of blood, a stark contrast to the rest of her complexion, as she came walking up my drive with a pile of papers in her hand. Her face is very square with a jawline you could cut yourself on. She has these ridiculously bright blue eyes that matched the color of the ocean almost perfectly. She wears a plain white dress with blue as the accent color, bringing out her eyes. It makes her look slightly washed out but almost gave her this angelic aura, especially with the small train following behind her.

Oh god what have I gotten myself into. I contemplate the very real possibility that my mate might be an angel. Or if nothing else be the equivalent to one. Both meant bad news for me.

"Good morning," I reply breathlessly, the scents of lavender and vanilla increasing, suffocating me, the closer she got. Did she naturally smell like this or was this a perfume? If it was the latter I would go out and immediately buy it in bulk, dunk my entire house in it if possible. "How are you?" I manage to get out. Every breath wasted speaking is a breath I waste not inhaling.

"My name is Selina Wright and I'm absolutely marvelous this fine day," she responds with a bright smile. "But you know who isn't?" Oh no. Of course my mate just had to be. "Colored's." There it is.

I try to hold back a scowl, but am rather unsuccessful. "Yes well-"

"Exactly! I'm sure you're aware of this absolute tragedy, having first hand experience of the biases," she says, motioning towards my skin color. I am only half-black, but of course a drop of black blood makes me black. I would know. "It is destroying our moral and social virtue!" I roll my eyes. Abolitionists. Must they always be so damn righteous? What have I done to the universe to deserve this? "Although, I'm sure you don't need one, would you like a pamphlet?" She offers one up from the stack in her arms.

I hold up my hands to stop her. "I have no interest," I reply curtly.

She nods firmly and enthusiastically. "So, I have to ask to make sure you signature counts. Are you a freedwoman Miss..." Her voice trails off, silently asking my name.

"Colby Kyle Yes, but-"

"Perfect!" She begins grabbing a large book of her hands.

"I'm not signing your petition," I say, suspecting that's what the book is if she's asking for my signature.

"What?" Her look is absolutely heartbroken. It's my natural instinct to bring a hand to her face and comfort her, feel her skin against mine. I'm so tempted to sign it just to make her happy once again, but I don't do things like this anymore. "If this is a matter of safety I can assure you no harm will-"

"It's not about safety," I interrupt. "I simply have no desire to get into this fight."

"But these are your people," she demands. "This affects you just as much as anyone else. You could be kidnapped and sold into slavery." I almost snort. They could try. "Why wouldn't you sign something to your own benefit?"

"I told you that I have no interest. This is not my battle neither is this yours. You should really get away from this business before you get hurt," I point out. Please get away from this. It's such a dangerous business. I don't need to see another person die.

"This issue transcends race! This is a battle of keeping humanity human," she insists. "How could you not want to sign this?"

"It's not your cause that I don't believe in. I have seen the injustices of slavery and I do not wish to see them again. They are wrong, but this is no longer my battle," I reply with a sigh. I don't think I have enough energy to fight anymore. I can't stand to lose anyone else. After losing Johnathan and Kurt and every reincarnation of, well, you, I don't think I could handle another battle, another fight, another war. "When you've seen death as much as I have, you'll understand."

"What? WHEN I'VE SEEN DEATH AS MUCH AS YOU HAVE? Firstly, you're like 25. You're only a couple years older than me. Secondly, what do you think most coloreds are doing every day. THEY ARE DYING. They are dying while they are still alive and when death finally comes it's a release for them! How can this not outrage you!"

"Well, firstly, I'm 33," I correct her, causing her jaw to drop. "Secondly, do not lecture me on death or the way a slave feels for I know exactly how it is. You are white. You will never understand for a moment how it feels to be black," I bite back. It hurts causing her pain, but I will stand firm on this. The last time I fought for something – someone – it hurt too much when they left anyways. I'm done fighting. I will have no more of it. "Please, just leave me alone. Better yet, get out of this mess well you still can. You have no requirement to stick around and die for this cause that doesn't even affect you." I don't need anyone else, especially her, dying over this.

"This does affect me," she argues. "It affects everyone. I don't understand how you can… behave like this." She throws her hands in the air. God do I know how to pick them. Of course my mate would have the most spirited, fiery personality on all of earth. I never have been a fan of the kind that take life lying down.

Funny, because now I've become one of them.

"Please, just heed my advice," I say. "If you'd like to come back and talk about something else I'd absolutely love to talk to you. You seem like a smart, passionate girl with very strong opinions, but I have no interest in fighting this or you." I begin to walk away, grabbing my book and my blood, before she calls to my back.

"I think I will come back." The statement makes me smile. "I'm going to come back every day and I'm going to talk to you and figure out why you feel this way and then I'm going to change your mind.

"You can do as you like. You won't change my mind," I call out as I enter my house.

I can practically feel her smiling, already so sure of her victory, as the door closes.

**Blood**

True to her word she came back every day for the rest of the week. By the fifth time she'd come around I had moved on to _Oliver Twist_ by Charles Dickens and had set the kettle with blood for me and tea for Selina. She'd show up early in the morning and share a cup with me and we'd debate. Why should I sign her petition? How could I so blatantly disregard my own people? How could I so blatantly the basic rights of man as listed in the Declaration of Independence itself?

Eventually, the subject would take a natural shift. Perhaps we'd begin discussing the lives of slaves and we'd touch on _The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass_ and suddenly we'd be talking about the books we've been reading of late. Or perhaps she'd make a comment on how excellent the tea was and suddenly we'd go off on an unrelated tangent. Every day was different, but somehow we'd end up talking. Not debating, just talking. Getting to know one another better.

"Good morning," I say, pushing the mug of tea towards her across the table. She quickens her way up the stairs and walks hastily towards the chair, eager for the warm tea on such a cool autumn day.

"Hello, Miss Kyle," she says. "Changed your mind yet about signing my petition?" she asks, already knowing the answer as she takes a sip of tea and sets her pamphlets and petition-book down.

"You ask me that every day and every day I tell you no," I respond with a chuckle as I set down my book.

"Well, I'm hoping that one day I'll ask and you'll say yes," she says. "That's what it's all about see," she places her tea cup down on the table, "breaking the norm, the tradition. Standing up one morning, putting your mug down, and standing up. Doing the right thing." I can feel my eyes rolling, but by now its out of pure amusement. The naivety of people in their early 20's will never fail to entertain me. They're so hopeful and optimistic. They still think that they're the generation that will 'make the difference.' After seeing 531 years of living I've learned that the only people that could make a difference are the ones who never will – rich, educated, white, heterosexual men interested in keeping themselves in power, not minorities.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that will never happen. There's a reason tradition is tradition," I say. "If you want to make a difference, don't waste your time here on me. I'm not going to be the one who makes the difference. Go find some man in congress."

"Yeah, but a congressman isn't going to listen to me," she argues. "You know what he will listen to? Thousands of signatures compiled calling for justice. I know that a congressman doesn't care about one person, but thousands of people? They have to listen."

"Or they brush you under the carpet and tell you to bugger off with a sum of money equivalent to the amount of people signing," I say, sipping blood. I've been adding two pints of blood lately to help keep me under control around Selina.

"Bugger off?"

"British version of fuck off," I reply.

She immediately goes to smack my arm with a gasp still falling off her lips. "Naughty! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth!"

"Don't have a mother," I reply. Well… I do, but she's never around so it's essentially the same thing. Immediately a somberness surrounds us and she quiets uncomfortably. I didn't mean to make her uncomfortable. I don't ever want her to feel she must act a specific way that isn't her for the purpose of etiquette upon hearing a statement like that. Before she can even apologize, which I can tell she's about to do, I speak up, "It matters very little though. You make a good point though. You'll need plenty of signatures. You don't have time to come around and see little old me every morning. I can't imagine how this is affecting your route."

She immediately follows my lead, sensing that I want to move on and also eager to move on herself. "I have plenty of time for a friend," she replies brightly.

"We're friends?" I arch an eyebrow.

"Aren't we?" she says with a confident smile. She reminds me of Vivienne – or I should call her Lilly now – when she smiles. She's smiling like the fucking sun just came out after weeks of rain and she's staring at a blooming garden of thousands of flowers. It immediately cheers me up, but also make me a bit sad to think of Lilly who isn't here right now.

"Of course," I respond somewhat distractedly.  
Apparently Selina notices my distracted sadness instantly. "What's wrong? Is this about that stupid comment I made about your mother? I had no idea. I'm so sorry about that. Really if I had known-"

"It's not about that," I respond, tempted to chuckle at her absolutely adorable nervous babble which makes me fall even deeper in love with her. I feel so ridiculous saying that to myself. Falling in love. It's only been a week. I know it's different than with normal humans. She is biologically, emotionally, physically, and spiritually meant for me. Of course falling in love this quickly should be easy, but no matter how many times I love her, the speed at which I fall never fails to astound and annoy me. "It's just about a friend of mine."

"What happened?" She leans in and I can hear her thinking. She wants to put a hand on my leg or grab my hand in hers, comfort me through touch, but she knows that its not acceptable to offer this kind of comfort after knowing a person for only one week. Still, I wish she'd throw propriety out the window.

"Nothing happened. She's just not here. She happens to be my better half and she's away right now. When you, uh, smiled you reminded me of her." I can feel my cheeks heat up. Is that too forward?

"I'm sorry. Why is she away?"

"I needed to… I needed to keep moving. She just wanted to stay put. She's actually down south right now. Seems to be enjoying it too. I just miss her a lot, y'know?"

She nods understandingly. "Were you two, uh, excuse the invasiveness of this question, ever…" she trails off, not wanting to say it but trying to force through the sentiment of her meaning. _'In a homosexual relationship?'_ she thinks loudly. "It wouldn't be a problem of course," she quickly adds on. "I'm just wondering. The way you speak of her seems reminiscent of… a past."

"Absolutely not," I shut down. No, the only girl I'm interested in, have ever truly been interested in, is you. "We're just best friends."

"Oh." For some reason I can't help but notice a strange mixture of happiness and sadness pervading in her tone.

"Yes well," I say clearing my throat. "Not a completely uncommon mistake," I clarify. "People have thought that about Lilly and I before." I try to ease any embarrassment off of her, but something still seems to be gnawing at her. Her thoughts aren't loud enough for me to read without purposely trying either. "So," I try to switch topics, "Upon finding out that we are apparently friends," I tease, "Would you perhaps like to spend some time other than on my porch. We could meet for a brunch or something."

"I'd love to!"

**Okay, so I know this one is short, but there's a reason for that. In like two flashbacks you should be getting your first ever flashback in a timeline we've already visited! Exciting I know. So, I didn't want to write too much here when that was coming up.**

**For the next chapter, if there are 10 reviews in 3 days I will post the next chapter on that third day! It was 15 but I decided that's an unfair number for such a short chapter.**


	13. Chapter 13 - Queen Quinn Gets Coffee

**Thank you guys for putting in the effort with the reviews. I know it must get sort of annoying me being all review-pander-y. I recognize that I do that. But it really does brighten my day every time, helps sort of boost this story as a whole, and inspire me.**

**Hey, by chance are any of you absolute Latin scholars who would like to tutor me for free in Latin? No. I didn't think so. *****Sigh* I hate Latin. **

**Recap: After running out of practice, too enticed (we'll say) by Quinn, Quinn tracks her down sitting under a tree studying and informs her that they are partners in number for The Bella's. They actually get along spectacularly during their first rehearsal. Then, during their second, Puck comes calling and Santana leaves fifteen minutes early to go "hunting." As they walk away Puck informs Santana that Quinn's arousal was off the charts. Meanwhile, Quinn is scheming with Chloe and Rachel to get Beca into Chloe's arms.**

Queen Quinn Gets Coffee

Quinn's POV

First she ditches me fifteen minutes early from last rehearsal and now she doesn't even show up to practice! I texted. I called. Twice! She's just not responding. And now I get to walk down to the ballet studio, wait for fifteen minutes, and then get to traipse back up the stairs to go get her lazy ass out of bed!

Why must she be like this? She's absolutely charming, completely sociable, absolutely gorgeous, and clearly very intelligent to have been placed in a sophomore class and passed Crazy July's writing 'test' in one go. Why then must she also be a stubborn, moody, chronically late, commitment-phobe, quitter! She's absolutely infuriating. I try to be angry at her but then she shows me how to dance or carries boxes or is genuinely sweet and buys me a coffee, like for our second rehearsal (she paid attention to my coffee order!). But just as she hooks me in she does some dick move that makes me hate her again, like sleep in during our already planned practice time!

Just as I'm about to knock on the door a bustling blonde comes out, nearly ready to run me over. "Oh! Hey! Sorry QUINN!" She says my name extremely loudly, probably to alert Santana. "Did you need something?" She closes the door a bit, blocking the entrance and any potential view of Santana's side. How did two freshman get a split double?

"I'm just here looking for Santana." I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice, even if I wanted to.

"Oh," Brittany says. She glances towards Santana's side of the room. "Hold on. San!" She calls out. "Quinn's here!" This is a dorm room, not a two story house. The only reason Brittany would need to scream for attention is if Santana was asleep or had headphones on. If that little shit is asleep while I had to wake up an hour earlier just for this practice, I swear to fucking god!

"K," I hear her say in a clearly sleepy voice.

That's it.

I storm in, barging past Brittany (I make a note to apologize for that later. Brittany's just a sweet kid with a bad roommate!). And then I see it. Santana Lopez is lazing around in bed, left hand groping the dresser behind her for a pack of cigarettes, right hand wrapped around a brunette snuggling into Santana's right side, and incredibly voluptuous boobs, nipples hardened from the cold, completely out in the open. I'm straight and I can admit that they're pretty sexy.

"Are you. Fucking. Kidding Me!" I scream. In the back of my mind I register the click of the door closing behind me as Brittany escapes the room.

"Hey Q," she says, holding the cigarette in her mouth so she can grab the lighter.

"It's Quinn," I growl back through gritted teeth.

"What the fuck?" The brunette says sleepily, blinking her eyes open slowly as to adjust to the light. Her eyes catch sight of me as her cheeks blush bright crimson, realizing that both she and Santana's tits were out in the open. I recognize her face. She's just a year ahead of me. Elaine. She anxiously pulls the cover up over both of them, but the see-through sheet does little to hinder my view, not that I'm particularly looking.

"Hi Elaine," I say with a smirk having caught her in such a compromising position.

"Yo, what do you want Quinn? You're interrupting… well a lot of things actually." She lights the cigarette in her mouth.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your beauty sleep with you fuck buddy," I spit venomously, "but I've been waiting over fifteen minutes for you to show up to rehearsal!"

"Shit! Q, I'm sorry!" She runs a hand through her hair with an apologetic but guilty-as-charged smile.

"It's Quinn," I repeat.

"Right, Quinn," she corrects solemnly. "Look, I'll be right down, okay? I promise."

"Oh no! If you're insinuating that I'm going to go outside or back down and wait for you then you've got another thing coming." I must look crazed, but guess what, I fucking am right now.

"Quinn," she says with deadpan seriousness, "I'm naked."

"Thanks Captain Obvious," I say. I notice she smiles a bit, which only goes to further infuriate me. "I'm not leaving this spot. You are going to get dressed, brush your teeth, and come the fuck down and rehearse with me."

"Are you serious?" she complains with a scowl all over her face. I firmly place my feet on the floor and channel my inner bitch, sending her a glare that tells her I'm not backing down. And that's how it stayed for a couple seconds, a showdown that could've set the room on fire.

Finally, she concedes and looks away. "Fine," she says. She brings her fingers to the smoke and inhales once more before positioning to get out of bed.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Elaine says, turning towards her naked bed partner. It just makes me smirk more.

"Sorry, doll," she says, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips. I can actually feel my eyes rolling as she manages to get out of bed, crawl over her bed partner gracefully, and keep the cover over Elaine.

Seeing Santana in all her naked glory was… something I had not been prepared for. I'm straight. I've never seriously considered experimentation. Seeing all that supple, tan skin and Latina ass and voluptuous boobs falling on her chest with her toned claves and ridiculously muscled arms… is a lot to take in at once. She even has a goddamn six-pack. Maybe one at a time I can handle, but all at once? It was like seeing something out of heaven. I may be straight, but I'm not blind. She was hot and I was caught between looking away out of embarrassment or staring longer. Even Elaine was staring shamelessly at her. Although, considering the two had spent just had sex her staring was much more justified.

After taking in one more eyeful I decide to look away. The last thing I need is for Santana to see me staring and start getting cocky on me and tease me about it. Quick enough she's thrown on some leggings, a baggy t-shirt that hides a body that need not hide, and thrown her hair up in a messy ponytail. "Ya happy?" She asks turning angrily towards me.

She has no right to be angry! I have a right to be angry! She ditched me yesterday and today and she's been a total bitch to me at least 50% of the time we've spent together. I walked in on her naked with her fuckbuddy. She can suck it the fuck up.

"Absolutely ecstatic," I say straight-faced.

"Well, as long as Queen Quinn is satisfied," she responds.

QUEEN! QUEEN! I let out an indignant huff.

"Later babe," Santana says to Elaine, giving her an exaggerated kiss on the lips. "Lead on, Queen."

**Blood**

Santana's POV

I really hadn't meant to be late. I was going to set an alarm and everything or ask Brittany to wake me up. I may tease Quinn, but all I really want to do is make her like me. I want to impress her. I didn't mean to be a dick last night, but it was clear that Puck was about to rape somebody if he didn't get his hunger under control. I was going to make it up to her by being super on time and the perfect partner this morning.

Then Puck happened.

The two of us were downing cheap drinks like they were they were air. Of course I never could get truly drunk, but I was at least a little tipsy. Puck was completely drunk. An incubus' metabolism is not a vampire's. The two of us had both stepped away to our respective bathroom's multiple times to suck some blood or have quickies so at the time I had been high on alcohol and blood.

So, in a moment of 'drunken' sadness I told Puck about Quinn and the other night was briefly mentioned. Being an incubus, not being able to have pleasure-filled sex is probably the worst thing to ever exist, so he offered to fix my problem. First with his dick, which I promptly slapped him – hard – for. Then he offered to use his abilities (he calls them sexual superpowers) to make me so aroused that I wouldn't care if it was Quinn or not.

I was a little out of it from the blood and alcohol. I had been spending the last couple of days with Quinn and, of course, falling in even deeper with her. I found out what coffee order she drinks and I've memorized the way her forehead crinkles when she's frustrated and I know that she has no formal experience in dancing, but she loves it and considers herself pretty good.

It was like I was experiencing pain and pleasure all at once. I knew that every new thing I learned would make it so much harder to pull away, so much harder to go on without her, but I couldn't resist. Being with her, near her, even just as ships in the night, was worth every heartache. This could be her last life. I'm going to remember her.

So Puck caught me when I was heartbroken and fucking aroused after that… moment with Quinn dancing, but I knew I couldn't have her. I needed a way to get over her or continue on without her and that's what Puck offered even if only temporarily. So foolishly, I said yes.

I was stumbling out of that bar, so numb to any feelings other than sex, and with Elaine on my arm. So I took her to our dorm room and fucked her until we were both satisfied and I was so exhausted I couldn't think of anything but the word sleep.

Then I heard Brittany say Quinn.

And now I'm here, taking off my shoes and getting ready to continue showing Quinn some choreography. The entire room is silent and she's just standing there, arms crossed and huffing silently about my tardiness.

"I'm sorry," I say speaking up. "I didn't mean to be late… or a dick to you in my room."

"Yeah well, it just seems to be your natural state, huh San," she bites back. "God, I can't wait for this stupid partnership to be over!"

"Personally, I've liked working with you," I admit with a nonchalant shrug, hoping to take a bit of seriousness out of the statement.

Silence.

I begin to consider something that hadn't actually occurred to me before. "Look, is this because of earlier? You found me in bed with a girl and you're not okay that?" I never thought that my soul mate wouldn't actually be attracted to me. I mean, it just seems sort of ridiculous, but it was possible. Soul mates do come in more than the romantic form.

"What? No!" Her thoughts immediately bombard me with flat-out denial and passionate beliefs. "I have no problems with your sexuality. Three of my closest friends are bisexual. Why is it so hard to believe I just have a problem with you? You're a moody, bitchy, continuously absent girl who seems to have an on and off switch for courtesy. I don't care who you sleep with. I just pity them."

"Okay," I say uneasily, unsure of this territory. "Look, let's just… get this over with," I concede.

"Great," she says curtly.

"Fine." I take a deep breath in. "So, do you remember the steps from last night?"

"Yes, I do because I actually care about our rehearsals and pay attention," she comments aggressively.

"Okay, great," I say trying to remain civil. "So, start at the beginning?"

"Whatever."

Wow. I sure do have a type. Quinn has never looked alike, but her personality has always had a few core values. Two traits that have always been prevalent through Quinn's many reincarnations: she's got attitude and she won't back down easily. I guess I like a girl who gives me a bit of a hard time. Just my luck, huh.

The two of us begin our dance, in more ways that one. She sits down on the ground, where a piano would be once we performed, and the two of us begin to sing, continuing our same movements from last night, following through to the moves we didn't do and I only said.

At the chorus, we enter new territory. "Can you take my part for a second so I can show you?" She places a gentle hand on my waist and clasps her hand in mine, mimicking our former stance with roles reversed. I take our two hands and disconnects them, instead moving one to midway down her back. I quickly move under her arm, still hanging in midair wondering where her hand had gone, and appear behind her, using the palm of my hand on her back to push off of of her in a beautiful separation.

I begin moving upstage, leading with her right foot and stepping away. I pull her hands in for a small spin on her way before continuing to, essentially, walk away from her. Then I open her arms out wide like a bird in flight. "And then at this position I'll appear behind you and try to grab your hand, and you'll turn around and the official chorus will start."

She nods and I can tell she's slightly impressed. My moves weren't particularly advanced, but I imagine the skill at which I executed them looked good.

We go back to position and pull apart as the two of us vaguely sing 'I'm breaking.' Then, I run towards her, grab her hand and twirls her in towards me. I sense her pulse increasing. The two of us continuing dancing with easy enough steps. I hook my left foot around my leg for a split second, like a slight flourish for detail, that is a common move in the salsa. Then I nod her head, cuing her to repeat my motions. I find that it's a pretty easy process. She needs to work on her posture, but the basic steps are quite simple and she's a natural.

Once the time comes for me to show her more steps she immediately disconnects, escaping from me as though I am monster and she is damsel in distress, which I suppose is a fairly accurate analogy except she'd be the hero. She'd be the hero to come slay the dragon. And I'd let her. It hurts to see her spurn me so quickly. "That was excellent, Quinn. You picked that up really quickly," I compliment, hoping it'll be one more step towards being in her good graces once again.

"Yeah, I bet you didn't even choreograph that. It was probably just Britt and you're taking credit for it."

"Okay, you can insult me all you want. That's fine," I say taking a domineering step forward, "But my work is my own and the fact that you're saying you don't think I have the skill to choreograph a dance like is, frankly, really insulting and uncalled for!"

Silence fills the room.

I've fucked up.

I shouldn't have said anything. Great, now she's never going to forgive me. She's just going to hate me, which might be the better choice for her in the end.

And then she says the one thing I didn't expect, "You're right. I'm sorry." My head immediately shoots up in shocked response. "You may be a lot of things, Santana, but that doesn't give me the right to question your abilities."

"Thank you. Let's continue."

"Okay."

**Life**

"So, last practice," I say awkwardly. God, I sound like a fucking idiot. We both know it's the last practice. We perform in two days. Way to state the obvious, Santana.

"Yup." She's still a little mad about me ditching her multiple times, but thankfully she's been much more civil throughout this practice. Although she hasn't said that much either. She's pretty much trying to interact with me as little as possible, not an entirely terrible strategy on her part.

"I, uh, guess this is goodbye then? I mean… besides all of our Bella's practices, but I mean it's not like we'll really be spending too much personalized time there so it's sort of the equivalent of goodbye. Then again maybe you consider that still spending time together? I don't know. But like… if nothing else goodbye for now?" I praise the gods that I finally stopped talking, although I think it would more aptly be stumbling and tripping over words. Angry Quinn I can deal with. Nice Quinn I absolutely love (too much), but ignoring me 'civil' Quinn… she just makes me nervous. It's this uncomfortable in between. It's like… it's like there's no emotion. No nothing between us. I'd rather have her angry and yelling than silent and civil.

"Goodbye, Santana," she says curtly. Immediately she walks out the door of the basement studio, presumably to the first floor and out into the cold.

I sigh with a slump of my shoulders as I make my way outside of the room as well. Brittany is waiting for me. I can smell her. "Hey Britt," I say despondently, still a bit distracted by my less than satisfactory departure with Quinn.

"San, you were a fucking mess in there!"

"What? How did you know that?"

"I don't need to read minds to hear through thin walls."

"What are you even doing there?" I ask, trying to change the subject to something les depressing than my non-existent love life.

"I knew you were rehearsing down here so I stopped by. I have an essay to hand in and I ned you to proofread it. I figured I'll treat you to diner, you treat me to an editing session."

I let out another sigh. I think my life has become a series of disappointed sighs ever since Quinn entered it. "Yes sure." I sort of hate proofreading for Britt. Numbers and statistics are her area. Not writing. I always feel terrible because I change at least half of it and personally rewrite 2/3 of the changes.

"Thanks! Anyways, it just so happens that fate also led me here to tell you to go run after her!"

"What? Why? I should be avoiding her if anything." Another sigh.

"Because if you avoid her it'll kill you. In fact, if your relationship, platonic or romantic, is anything but happy it'll probably kill ya, kid," she says. "Plus, I'm telling you to."

"That's not a very good reason," I argue.

"It's the only reason that matters," she says. "Now go ask her out to coffee or dinner or I'll bring the rest of my stuffed animal collection with me and you'll be sharing our dorm room with at least 50 beanie babies and 300 stuffed animals overall. You know how happy I'd be."

"Fine. You can't blackmail me with stuffed animals."

"Okay, how about real animals? I'll bring Lord Tubbington with me."

"You can't. It's against school policy."

"Have you met me? I could get away with murder and they'd never know. What's a cat in the scope of that scale?"

The sad thing is that she probably could. And I fucking hate that cat. "Fine, give me a few seconds. Then I'm demanding that dinner from you."

I vaguely hear her calling 'You got it chief' but I'm already out the door and outside by that time.

"Quinn," I shout out, immediately turning my pace into one recognizable as a human speed.

"Santana?"

"Hey," I say, catching up the the slightly snow-covered blonde.

"How'd you catch up with me so fast?"

I shrug noncommittally. "Always been fast. Look, I don't like the way we've left things."

"What do you mean? Everything is perfectly fine. I've forgiven you."

"Not really," I reply. She glowers at me as if questioning her isn't an option. "But I want you to." I find myself meaning every word. "So you wanna grab a coffee sometime? It's all on me. You could buy every pastry in the shop if you want. I'll show up early and stay however long you want. So, what do you say?"

I can't remember being this nervous in decades and of all things it's over a coffee date. It's not even a date. It's a coffee hang out with someone who generally dislikes me. It feels like some of the longest seconds in my life.

"Okay." Immediately I breathe a sigh of relief and a smile appears on my face that couldn't go away even if I wanted to.

"Okay?"

"Okay. But I'm only going for the free coffee."

"Okay. When?"

"I know we didn't have time for a full rehearsal tomorrow, but I have a half an hour at 2?"

"Sounds great." As she walks away I remind myself to thank Brittany depending how this goes.

**Love**

True to my word I arrived early. 1:45. I was by no means going to be late to this. If I had to fight a horde of zombies I'd still make sure to arrive not one second past 2. It probably wasn't even possible for me to be late at this point. I had been counting down the seconds in my head until this meet up. I know it sounds obsessive, but it's always been a nervous habit of mine and counting the time is always easy for me. For me, it's like your brain is a computer screen and there's the window with the internet open doing the thinking, the window with Microsoft word typing out all your responses, and then the clock on the right hand corner. Everybody's brain does it, but as a vampire being born of the mind goddess it makes it a lot easier to tune into.

The moment she stepped into the overpriced college book store I knew. There was always that tug in your stomach when your mate is nearby. It's not like any butterflies and it's not really a fire either. It's more like a scanner that's always tracking and when they're nearby a little blip appears in your stomach or like a text alert on your phone.

As she gets closer I can smell her and her ever present mix of lavender and vanilla. I wonder briefly if it's possible to get addicted to lavender and vanilla to an unhealthy extent. It's not like it's a drug or anything, not in any listed medical source, but could it be possible? People say you can get addicted to anything. "Hey," I say standing up far too quickly. Had I been human I'm sure I would've had a small dizzy spell.

"Hey," she replies. She grips her book bag just a little bit tighter. "So, coffee?"

"Yeah, absolutely," I say too eagerly. I jump into line with her, regretting not having already been standing there. "I would've waited in the line before you came but then I thought about if I got to the front of the line before you came that wouldn't really work and it would just end with me awkwardly waiting holding up the line and I didn't want to do that so I-"

"Santana, it's fine." She still has this sort of annoyed tone in her voice that makes me shut up immediately. We spend the rest of the four-person line in awkward silence. She tries to check her phone for any messages or mail, anything to keep her busy and occupied in this line, but there's nothing there. I feel bad at my seeming inability to start a reasonable human conversation with her. I could do it before. Why not now?

I thank god the line moved quickly. The barista took our orders. Quinn changed it up from her usual and got a pumpkin spice latte and a broccoli and cheese quiche. They were some of the most expensive things there. I wonder if she got them because she has expensive taste, simply didn't realize it, or to spite me since I was paying. The money itself made no difference to me since I'm independently wealthy, but the reason did. No matter what it'd allow me more insight into her mind.

This is why I hate having my abilities. I could read her mind easily and find out why she did it. I could probe her entire mind and go so much deeper until I knew things even she didn't know, but just because I can doesn't mean I should. In fact, I made a strict rule that I shouldn't. I know that Quinn would never appreciate me purposely reading her mind without her consent. She'd probably walk out of my life without a second thought if she ever found out.

The two of us take an uncomfortable seat at a nearby table, waiting for our names to be called.

"So," she says awkwardly. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Totally."

"Great."

"Yup. Uh, what about you?"

"Yeah."

Silence.

Both pairs of eyes looking back and forth for distraction.

Anything to avoid looking directly at each other.

"Um…"

My eyes snap backing to attention.

Because now it's polite to stare.

"So, why did you join the Bella's?"

"My best friend really wanted to audition and she didn't want to do it alone," I reply.

"Is that all?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"No," I admit. "It's a lot of fun performing. It's a good release." I feel myself immediately blush. A good release. I know she's no thinking of it like that but I sure am. And I'm thinking of my last release… to her. "A lot of tension y'know," I say uncomfortably. "I can just get really throw my heart and soul into it and it's great making people smile. Music just sort of has this magical way of delivering a message plus it's catchy," I say deciding to just speak exactly what I mean. Maybe this'd end up as less of a fuck up if I did.

"That's sweet," she says with her first smile of this meet-up. "I was going to say, you definitely seem to enjoy it on stage more than just auditioning for your best friend." My ears perk up. Does this mean she pays attention to me to?

"What about you? Why did you join the Bella's?" I ask curiously.

"I was in the Glee Club in high school and it's where I created some of my memories and I love to sing. It's more a recreational hobby, but it's a lot of fun. Plus, there were a lot of cool people in there. I mean, I didn't know it at the time, but after one rehearsal with those girls I knew thy were friends for life. My best friend, Rachel, joined with me." Rachel? The hobbit with the Jewish nose? Really? She seems so fucking annoying.

"That's cool," I remark. "So, are you an English or Journalism major?"

"What? No. I'm undecided. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, well most of the people in that writing class take it because they want to become sort of writing/English major," I say. "Is that what you're leaning towards though, even if you are undecided?"

"I don't really know," Quinn says with a troubled frown on her mouth. I wish I could brush a finger across her lips and make it disappear. "Technically I'm undecided but I'm in all the courses that an English major or lawyer would be in. I also take a few photography classes."

"Woah! Law classes! That's got to be crazy! Most people that are lawyers declare before even coming because the classes are so rigorous. How are you handling so many classes?" My soul mate is a genius. It figures. I secretly smile proudly.

"It's a lot of work," she admits. "But I'm just so unsure of what I want to do so I'm holding it off until I'm forced to declare, but whatever I choose I don't want to be behind so I'm just balancing like… three different potential majors right now." She chuckles awkwardly. _I hope I don't come off as one of those bragging people,_ she thinks.

"That's… amazing," I say in true awe of her.

"Santana and Quinn!" I hear the barista call, our drinks arriving on the counter. I quickly jump up before she can to grab both. "I've got it." She smiles for the second time.

I return quickly to the table. "Those are three very different careers? What do you love about them? Have you considered double majors or a major with a double minor?"

"I've always loved writing. I've found it a sort of nice way to sort through your emotions and a good way to articulate things. I've also always been really good at it. I don't know, words have always had this ability to make me swoon. Photography just offers this really unique perspective and I love looking at things and people through different lenses and it's just a lot of fun capturing beautiful moments. Or even ugly moments. Law? I mean, it's just the most reasonable career. I'll never go hungry or anything and my parents support that the most. I'll be allowed to fight for justice for the right reasons and really make a difference in somebody's life. And yeah, I've thought of double-majoring, but they're all sort of difficult to double major in and I already have other minors in mind."

"Others?"

"I've always been really great with foreign languages. I was thinking of a minor in French." The thought of Quinn speaking French immediately drives me nuts. I can feel my mouth running dry, all of my body's fluids headed south. I think I might die if Quinn spoke French.

"Wow," I say with a completely audible gulp.

"What about you?" she asks. "What's your major? Writing too?"

"Yeah, basically," I say. "Um, I'm majoring in creative writing and journalism with a side of history. I haven't decided which time period and location to specifically look into though."

"You're a double major?" She sounds impressed. She sounds like she wasn't expecting it.

_I wasn't expecting that. Like, yes she's clearly very smart after passing through Crazy July's first class with ease, but she always felt like a bit of a slacker to me._

I don't know whether to be a bit offended or laugh.

"Yes."

"Is that hard?"

"Yeah, but I love what I chose so it's also just a lot of fun. I end up spending a lot of my time in the stacks or interviewing, but Yale has such a great collection. Did you know we have this great amazing collection of ancient Sumerian texts? It takes a really long time to translate, but it's pretty humbling to be one of the few to really read them."

"Aren't those things already translated?"

"Yeah, but a lot of stuff is untranslatable and the nuance is lost through the languages," I respond.

And suddenly she's laughing. It's not a full, rumbling laugh like when a good joke is told. It's more a quiet, reserved laugh. "I never anticipated you'd be such a nerd." I know she's laughing at me, but it feels more like she's laughing with me.

"Hey," I defend. "The ancient Sumerians were fucking badass. They had one of the most sophisticated armies of the Bronze Age." This just makes her laugh more. And I quickly find myself laughing with her.

After finally catching our breaths, Quinn asks, "So why writing?"

"Well… I suppose as a history major I've always appreciated the written record. I think writing best captures everything in history. It's captured the great words of Socrates and a record of Tiananmen Square. It's been used to oppress, Mein Kampf, and it's used its words to spark revolution like Uncle Tom's Cabin. It can just be used so many different ways. It's sort of like music, there are only so many words but if you string them in a different order it makes something new and interesting every single time."

"Look at us, a couple of loser's," Quinn says with another laugh.

"Very true." I raise my cheap, paper cup. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers!"

I really owe Brittany a thank you.

I'm content.

"So, tell me about Rachel. How do you stand her?"

**I hope you enjoyed this! So, I have this thing of one-shots that I started. It's not going to replace this story. It's like a side-thing to blow off steam when an idea pops into my head. If that sounds interesting to you go check it out.**

**I think I might do something with Britt's soul mate, it won't be much if any. Probably just a small thing at the end of this story, nothing overshadowing like the Bechloe in this. I like the idea of them being either OC/another fandom. I really did love the idea of Chloe being her soul mate, guys, but since I've made it very clear that a vampire just ****knows**** upon the moment of meeting their soul mate and Chloe/Britt have already met it can't happen.**


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